


Hunger is the Beginning

by mercutiowasababe



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Come Eating, Consensual Underage Sex, Drinking, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, OT3, Pegging, Recreational Drug Use, Step-siblings, Under-negotiated Kink, Vaginal Sex, there is no communication, they do not negotiate any of this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutiowasababe/pseuds/mercutiowasababe
Summary: Jaskier hasn't seen or spoken to his step-brother in two years and he thinks he's doing a pretty good job of hiding how fucked up about it he is. He's got a small group of ride or die friends, great grades, and he's been fucking his best friend Yenn for about seven months now. All in all his life is pretty great. You know, except for that gaping hole in his heart.Well, that is until Geralt comes back. Then he's pretty much comfortable admitting how horrible everything is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 29
Kudos: 39
Collections: Jaskier/others (besides or with Geralt)





	1. hunger becomes central

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Lets double check those tags and make sure we're prepared for what we're about to head into. I wrote something super filthy, super angsty, and suuuuuper fucked up emotionally. Because I like that sort of thing! And it was really my time to start bringing the type of fucked up emotions I personally love to read to this fandom. Just be careful with yourself darlings.  
> I'll have some blatant warnings at the end of the fic for you to skip down to and check out to make sure this fic is right for you and if you feel that I haven't accurately tagged anything just let me know and I'll update it as quickly as possible.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged twelve; autumn_

“Fuck off, kid.” Jaskier bites his lip at the sudden excitement flooding through his veins. He bounces on his feet. He tightens his hold on the straps of his backpack. 

This might be the coolest person he’ll ever meet.

“Don’t you have class?” He asks, trying to go for something equally as cool, but his voice holds none of that terrifying command that hers does.

“Don’t _you_?” She blows a cloud of smoke towards him and he restrains the desire to cough out of pure spite. She’s got makeup on, black eyeliner smeared all over the place, nothing like his mom’s careful, pointed strokes. He’s never seen makeup like that before and he likes it, it’s different. He thinks it frames her strange, purple eyes better than his mother’s style would. Is it contacts or just the way the light hits?

Jaskier shrugs, thumbs still slipped under his backpack straps so it makes the books against his back jostle. “Takin’ a half day.” The girl’s eyebrow lifts up and she turns to face him fully. She almost looks impressed.

“Well, get on then, before Fringilla comes out and catches you.” She waves her hand in his face, shooing him, but she’s still holding the cigarette inbetween her fingers so the action ends up spreading even more smoke in his face. It annoys the shit out of him enough that he snatches the cigarette and holds it up with a sneer.

“These’ll kill you, y’know.” She stands up to her full height now, arms crossed, and glaring at him. He’s terrified, she’s fucking terrifying, but it’s exhilarating in a way that nothing else has ever been.

“I didn’t realize. Thanks for the lookin’ out, kid.” She keeps saying kid like it’s an insult, like she’s not a kid herself. She _is_ older, but she’s still at the same school he’s at so she can’t be a grown up. He doesn’t think a teacher would wear makeup like that and allow a student to steal her cigarette.

“What’s your name?” Jaskier takes a pull of the cigarette because he thinks it’ll look cool and make her more willing to be his friend, but it just makes him cough. With tears springing to his eyes he manages to collect himself, holding in more coughs and trying really hard to make it still look cool. She’s got her hand pressed to her mouth and she’s clearly trying not to laugh at him. Well, that’s not nothing, right? At this point Jaskier has no other choice but to double down so he holds the cigarette back up to his mouth. “I’m Julian, but my friends all call me Jaskier.” When he takes another pull she almost looks sorry for him as she waits to see how this plays out.

He manages to not cough this time at least. She leans back against the wall and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket. She’s got a bunch of bracelets on her wrist, black and purple, with little charms shaking and glittering in the thin sunlight. It might be a play of the light, but he thinks he can see nasty bruise peeking out from under them. He doesn’t allow his eyes to linger longer than that, opting instead to sneer at the cigarette in his hand.

“Why do you do this? It’s awful.” The girl smirks, placing a new cigarette inbetween her lips, and Jaskier watches in fascination as she lights it. He thinks that if he managed to look even a fraction as cool as she does right now then the bitter taste on his tongue and the weird sensation of smoke in his lungs is _so_ worth it. She goes right back to ignoring him, though, and Jaskier isn’t sure how to play this so he slips one of the straps off his shoulder to lean his back against the wall right next to her. He tries another pull of the cigarette now that he’s used to it but he still hates the feeling of smoke in his lungs. He imagines he can feel it swirling around and he lets his breath out through his nose so he can see the smoke pour out of him like a dragon getting ready to spite some annoying little knight. Just like how he does during the winter.

Gods, this truly is the coolest thing he’s ever done.

“So, uh, what’ve you got planned for the day?” He turns to watch her blow smoke out from her mouth, interestingly directed away from him this time. She doesn’t bother to look at him and he really hopes she starts answering his questions before he has to start really trying to annoy her. He’ll risk getting caught and dragged back into class and even the phone call to his mother for smoking cigarettes, just to get her name.

“Got a history test next period.” She flicks the cigarette and the burnt part goes flying off in the wind. Jaskier looks at his own and sees that the burnt bit has gotten pretty long so he tries to copy her, moving it around in his hand so it sits inbetween his pointer and middle finger the right way, and attempts to flick it with his thumb, the exact way she did it. It knocks off some, but not all of it, and he almost drops it, too. This shit is hard.

“And after that?” The girl huffs, turning to look at him like he’s an adorable little annoyance.

“You trying to get me to drive you to the mall or something, kid?” She shakes her head like that was funny or something and Jaskier frowns.

“It’s Jaskier, and you still haven’t told me your name.”

“Ask me tomorrow _kid_ , maybe I’ll tell you.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and drops the cigarette to the ground so he can stomp on it the way he’s seen other grown ups do. His head’s starting to feel weird, almost like a headache, and his mouth feels dry. No way is he going to keep doing that, it really does taste awful.

“Well, _I’m_ going to go home and watch the Twilight Zone marathon. I hope you fail your stupid history test.” The girl actually laughs at that and Jaskier’s heart flutters in his chest. He’s had several crushes in the past, he recognizes the feeling, it’s just never felt this strong before. He thinks he might be floating ten feet off the ground.

It takes a month of tracking her down and bothering the absolute shit out of her to get her to tell him her name. It takes the entirety of his eighth grade year to convince her they’re friends.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day, aged nineteen; winter_

Yenn is plastered. She’s got her chin resting in her hand as she stares at Triss giggle her way through a slurred sentence, and if Jaskier hadn’t known her for eight years already he’d think she were completely sober by the way she acts. The fact that Jaskier’s watched them maintain a conversation for the past forty minutes without Yenn uttering a single syllable is the only indication of her drunkenness. In fact, it’s the most damning indication, and Triss hasn’t noticed yet either so when she starts chanting for another round Jaskier is all too happy to comply.

The second Triss catches up and realizes how they’re all way too drunk she’ll call them a cab to force them into and Jaskier isn’t quite ready to leave yet.

“Hey!” Jaskier turns back around too quickly and the world keeps spinning around him for punishment. He does a pretty good job ofcovering up his stumble by leaning over the table to better hear Triss’s next sentence. Her mouth is a huge smile, and she almost sparkles with joy. He loves drinking with Triss, the drunker she gets the more she radiates pure sunshine. “Did you ever end up calling that cute guy from those meetings you go to?” Jaskier’s mouth falls to the table and he shifts his weight to stare at Yenn who’s busy sipping a beer he doesn’t remember bringing her.

“Where’d you get that?” Yenn just shrugs and Triss giggles, regaining Jaskier’s attention for the moment. “She’s got a cute guy?”

“I don’t think I was supposed to say it!” Triss covers her mouth with her hands and Jaskier pouts, turning back to Yenn. She looks him right in the eye, one of her perfect little eyebrows taunting him haughtily.

She says nothing. Jaskier didn’t expect her to say anything, but he glares at her for her silence nonetheless. Yenn didn’t tell him about a cute guy. Yenn always tells him about the cute guys, even the ones she doesn’t want to share with him. How long has there been a cute guy?

Yenn picks up one of the empty shotglasses on the table and waves it in front of his face and Triss claps, returning to her chanting for more shots, the reason why Jaskier’s on his feet to begin with. Jaskier snaps his teeth at her but straightens up from his perch anyway. Triss is going to be so angry with him for buying her these shots and if he were a better friend he’d settle their tab and trick them into a cab himself.

But he’s not a better friend, he’s a disaster, and Yenn has a cute guy she’s been hiding from him and Triss has known about it and kept hidden, too. He keeps forgetting how good she is at keeping secrets when she’s not blackout drunk because her sweet little face doesn’t look like it’s capable of lying through her perfect teeth.

He leans across the bar and waits for the bartender who doesn’t care how obviously fake his ID is to make his order. He can feel the shape of his cellphone in his pocket and it suddenly seems like a great idea to make a quick phone call.

It’s not like it ever goes through anyway. It’s been a few months since he’s tried to call him last so he’s waited long enough. Longer than he has before. His thumb hovers over the number and he sways a little, suddenly hesitant. What if this is the time he answers? What does he even want to say?

The bartender shows up and Jaskier’s distracted from having to make a decision for a few more minutes. He watches the vodka fill up the shot glasses quickly and before he’s able to second guess the choice once more he clicks call and tucks the phone up to his ear.

It takes half a second for the lady on the phone to tell him this number is deactivated. It’s the same fucking message he’s been getting for two years, he’s not sure why he keeps thinking it’ll suddenly change. It’s harder than it should be to put on a smile when his bartender pushes the shots towards him. He tucks the phone back in his pocket and heads back to the table. The girls are already clapping by the time he’s close enough to hold their shots out for them and when they all shoot ‘em back Triss makes the cutest face of absolute mortification.

“Oh.” Triss’s face twists in disgust and breathes hard through her nose. It’s the funniest thing Jaskier has seen all night. “Oh, shit. I should not have taken that.” Jaskier plops down next to Yenn and she immediately tucks her face into his neck to press a wet kiss to his shoulder.

“Oh we should probably leave.” Triss pulls out her phone and navigates uber with one hand while holding out her other, silently waiting for the two of them to hand over their cards. Jaskier ‘boo’s her, as is the custom, but he does agree with her. They should definitely leave.

“I gave you mine when we got here remember?” Triss looks up at him confused and squinting.

“No you didn’t.” Jaskier can feel Yenn shifting against him but he ignores her in order to maintain eye contact as seriously as he can when this inebriated.

“Yes I did. Did you loose my card?” Triss frowns and then Yenn slaps her wallet into her outstretched hand and Jaskier lets out a relieved giggle when he sees it. “Oh, I gave it to _Yenn_.”

Triss rolls her eyes and gets up to settle the tab for them. Jaskier shots back to her ‘ _thanks mom!_ ’ and she flips him off without bothering to look back at him. Yenn sighs, head lolling on his shoulder, hand slipping into his shirt to better feel his heartbeat. His shirt is only held together by the last three buttons which is strange because he’d had more of them buttoned up when he’d gotten here. He’s certain of it.

—————————————————

Jaskier wakes up early. Unfairly, annoyingly, frustratingly early. He’s still wearing his watch, which has left an impression on Yenn’s waist, and he checks it to make doubly sure that it is, in fact, stupidly early.

Ten twenty-four. So stupidly, annoyingly, frustratingly, unfairly early. It’s Sunday for crying out loud. He should be _asleep_. Yenn stirs, dragging the last of the blankets that were still on his body away from him. He looks around for his phone for something to do until he either manages to fall back asleep or it’s a normal hour for Sunday morning. He lifts his pillow, then carefully runs his hand under Yenn’s pillow to see if it’s there. He looks around the bed, sitting up so see if he was laying on it. He peeks over to her desk, her dresser, her side table, but nothing. Jaskier sighs and resigns himself to being awake. He should look around for his phone at some point. Hopefully he didn’t leave it at the bar again.

Yenn’s room is almost messier than his is, only she doesn’t have any of the trash that he does. If she picked up all her clothes and put them away or even in a pile then her room wouldn’t look messy at all. Thankfully, though, they’re both horrible about throwing clothes all over the place so he doesn’t have to feel too embarrassed by the state of his room. He carefully climbs over Yenn and rifles around until he finds those softer than clouds sweatpants she likes so much. He really should buy his own pair sooner or later, they really are nice. He knows that the green sweater he likes is still on the back of the couch so he figures since he’s up he may as well be up.

When he yanks on the deep green sweater he hears a sleepy grunt and he almost has a fucking heart attack. Yenn is still in her bed, swaddled like a babe, and he distinctly remembers dropping Triss into his bed and tucking her in ‘ _like a burrito, please_ ’ because her drunken pout is far more powerful than her drunken smiles, so he has no clue what could possibly be making sleepy groans from his couch.

He clutches the sweater to his chest and carefully peek over the back of the couch to see Renfri curled up as small as possible with a pillow on her side acting like a blanket. He rolls his eyes as the tension leaves his body and he throws the sweater on before he takes the four steps to their chair to grab their throw blanket. “Stupid girl, so dramatic, where did you even disappear to last night?” Jaskier moves the pillow and throws the blanket over her. “I knew telling you where we hid the key was a mistake.” He grumbles as he puts the pillow back on her side and ignores her louder, more annoyed, sleepy grunts.

“Shit talk to choices quieter.” He heard from the couch, a grumbled, still slurred remark. Jaskier grabs the coffee pot and swirls the half cup around, inspecting it so see if there’s any floating mold. Nothing visible. He shrugs and dumps it down the drain to fill it up with warm water, swirling it for a moment before dumping it. He does it once more before setting the pot down on top of the dirty dishes to fill up with water while he pulls the coffee down from the cupboard. Renfri’s groaning is the only warning he gets before the pillow smacks into the fridge.

“Oh hush, it’s for coffee. You want coffee don’t you?”

“I would like for you to make the coffee _quieter_.” Jaskier smirks, dumping the coffee into the filter, and reaches over to turn the water off. He’s stupidly fond of Renfri and all her dramatic pissing and moaning and natural bitchiness. He’s always been weak for the bitchy, bitey ones.

“Oh, Renfri. There you are.” Triss emerges from his room wearing a pair of his sunglasses, one of his sweaters, and a pair of his underwear. He’s put her to bed fully clothed in her own things but this is common for her. Between her and Yenn he doesn’t think he can really say his clothes are exclusively his own anymore. “I need water, and advil, and for someone to knock me right back out. And maybe go to class and take notes for me today.” Jaskier smiles and sets out finding her advil while she pours herself a glass of water. Renfri, all out of pillows, settles for glaring at her from under the blanket Jaskier threw on top of her. Triss ignores her in favor of falling into a chair at the kitchen table and sipping at her water.

“Advil.” Jaskier sets them down for her and she spares him a small, pained smile. “Unfortunately I’m all out of the will to live, but I think I could find some cyanide tablets if you’d like.”

Triss pops the advil in her mouth and finishes off half the water in one go. “Ha, ha.” She turns to Renfri, “Where did you go?” Jaskier pulls down three coffee mugs from the cupboard, frowning. He’s going to have to clean his own mug but he can’t see it in the sink which means it’s buried under the other dishes. Gods, he really needs to clean up, their apartment is a serious mess.

“Didn’t I text you? I texted someone.” Renfri’s gone back to hiding under the blanket and her voice is muffled but still obviously annoyed by the interruption to her sleep. Triss glances over at Jaskier but he just shrugs. He wasn’t the one who got any text.

“Must’ve been Yenn, then. She got pretty nonverbal by the end.”

“Renfri ran off way before Yenn got that fucked up though.” Triss just shrugs and lifts her nose to the air, taking in an obvious, deep breath. She smiles and it already looks less pained then before.

“Ohhh, coffee.” Yenn walks into the room with her eyes barely open and smiling freely which lets him know that she’s still very much buzzed from last night. She’s huddled up in the blanket still, dragging it along the floor, and one of her shoulders is peeking out. He can see a light purple mark he must have sucked into her skin along her clavicle. He knows better than to place them anywhere more visible than that.

“Oh, Renfri. Glad to see you made it.” Yenn plops down into the only other chair across from Triss and reaches her arm out from under her cocoon for the advil bottle and it slips further down, revealing more of her naked back. Of course she wouldn’t bother to dress. Jaskier didn’t really think she had. He offers her her own glass of water and she takes it without comment.

“I swear I texted one of you assholes. Not my fault you guys can’t read.” Renfri says it sourly as she stands up, blanket draped over her shoulders like a shawl, and makes her way to the line of coffee mugs.

“Do you still have that meeting today Yenn?” Jaskier asks, already pulling down the last clean togo coffee mug for her regardless of her answer. He doesn’t want to have to face the dishes down just yet.

“How are you not as incredibly hung over as the rest of us?” Triss asks bitterly, head still lolling around in her hand. It almost looks like her head would fall off if she didn’t hold it up with her arm and Jaskier bites his lip to not laugh at her pain. Renfri glowers at the coffee pot, waiting for it to stop dripping.

“Where’s the sugar?” She asks the coffeepot but Jaskier turns to pull down the sugar for her regardless.

“I’m blessed with highly tolerant genetics, Triss love.” Jaskier is hung over, very much so, but he’s incredibly good at pretending he isn’t. “Yenn is still drunk, and you have horrible genetics.” Both of which are true and earn him an undignified snort from Yenn and a glare from Triss. The sunglasses she’s wearing to block out the sunlight are dark enough that he’s guessing it’s a glare but he’s fairly certain he’s right.

“What time is it?” Yenn asks.

“Nearly eleven.” Yenn hums and finishes off her water. Jaskier snatches the coffeepot from the machine before it’s stopped dripping and Renfri gasps like she’s never seen him do this before. “The coffeepot stops dripping when you take the pot out.” He says as he fills up Yenn’s travel mug and then fills up her mug for her. She glares at him the whole time in spite of his kindness.

“Yes, I do still have that meeting. I should get dressed soon.” Yenn takes the travel mug Jaskier offers her and breathes in the warmth and the scent of her freshly brewed coffee with her eyes closed.

“And put away those fantastic tits?” Renfri quips, stirring her two spoonfuls of sugar in her mug without bothering to look at Yenn when she says it.

“Will you pour me my coffee darling, since you’re so unaffected and I genuinely feel I may die.” Triss smiles pitifully at Jaskier and he sets her coffee down in front of her, already having poured it once Renfri moved to the counter where the sugar was set out.

“Do you want any milk for it, princess?” Triss takes a slow sip and nods her head. Jaskier’s not unused to playing host after their rowdier nights out, he kind of loves it if he’s being honest, but he still pours a splash of milk in her coffee like he’s the most put upon man in the room.

Yenn leans back in the chair and looks down at her tits smirking. “They are pretty fantastic, huh?” She turns to smirk at Renfri who just watches her from where she’s hopped up onto the counter unamused. This is far from the first time they’ve all been subjected to Yenn’s proclivity for nudity despite the winter chill and no one’s surprised by the deep purple marks decorating her skin, either.

Triss pouts. “Man, I need to get laid.”

“I’m more than happy to offer my services.” Yenn leans closer to Triss and even though he can’t see her face, Jaskier knows she’s winking.

“We do make a great team, love.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows at her as he shuts the fridge and finally gets around to pouring out his own coffee.

“As tempting as the offer is,” Triss’s tone indicating just how not at all tempted she is, “I’d much rather find someone I don’t have to face in the morning.” Yenn snorts again and stands up, gathering the blankets around her lazily.

“Fine, be that way.” Yenn runs her hand along Jaskier’s shoulder as she makes her way back to her room. “But Jaskier is right, we really do make a great team.” Jaskier takes over her seat, relieved to finally be able to sit the fuck down.

“So, brunch?” Triss grunts in the affirmative as she takes another gulp of her coffee. She already looks much less green. He turns to Renfri, “Brunch?” Renfri nods, staring at the sink like she’s looking into the void. “Seriously, where did you go?”

“You’ll have to wait for the five o’clock news like everyone else, Jaskier.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and gives up on her for the remainder of their morning. They all sit in silence for a while, just enjoying their coffee and one another’s company. Jaskier scrolls through his contact list in his mind, curious about who else he could invite. He knows he’s missing at least a third of the numbers he has stored, which makes him wonder what numbers he’s missing, which makes him think he should really clean out his contacts list. Not to mention find his phone to begin with.

Yenn walks back into the room, still buttoning her jeans, and only in a white, overly lacy bralette. He’s felt those things against his skin, that lace is scratchy as hell. He has no idea why she bothers with it. She throws her hair up into a messy bun and ducks into his room, probably for a shirt.

“Can I shower?” Renfri asks, still staring at the sink, and Jaskier waves his hand in the air, vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. She’s been here far too often to bother asking. One of these days Yenn may even make good on her constant threats to make her pay a portion of the rent.

“We should have a few more towels left. If not, you’re SOL.” Renfri hops down from the counter while Triss stands up to claim the couch. Yenn walks out of his room, pulling a plain white tee down her stomach.

“Don’t steal any more of my clothes fucker. You’re cut off until you return what you already have.” Yenn’s saying it to Renfri but Jaskier but that just means she’s going to steal his own clothes. He should do his laundry soon, especially since all these women keep stealing his shit. Renfri just grunts, tossing the blanket at Yenn when they pass eachother by in the tiny excuse for a hallway.

Jaskier smiles up at Yenn as she straps on one of Jaskier’s watches on her wrist. “Brunch!” Yenn winces at his tone and leans over the couch to take the sunglasses off of Triss’s face. Jaskier can see Triss’s hands slapping at her lazily in protest.

“Okay. Brunch.” Yenn slides the sunglasses on and takes the bottle of advil from him when she’s close enough to do so. She takes them with her coffee and then pulls Jaskier’s phone out of her back pocket. “You’re still doing this?” Jaskier squints his eyes at her and snatches his phone away. He really should change the code but he’d only just gotten used to this current one. He supposes it’s only fair, he’s known her code for six months now. The longest he’s been able to hide it without her changing it on him.

“Fuck off, Yenn.” He opens his phone and sees that his call history has been pulled up, which isn’t what he locked his phone on, on purpose. Jaskier doesn’t look at her, not that he’d be able to see much from behind those sunglasses. She runs her fingers through his hair in a surprisingly gentle show of affection. It’s not that she’s never gentle, it’s just that it’s rare and usually reserved for when he absolutely needs it.

“I didn’t know you were still trying.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and glances up at her ‘ _are you serious?_ ’ written all over his expression. Yenn just shrugs, and french tucks in his shirt before pulling her coat from the one armchair they own. He refuses to sit on it because Yenn and Renfri carried it inside from the curb but they’ve had it for a few months now so he knows there’s no opossums living in it by now. Jaskier grabs her keys for her, holding them out, as she checks that her wallet is in her coat pocket.

“You don’t remember our first fight?” Yenn smirks, pocketing her keys and leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“That was a month. It’s been two years.” She whispers it so Triss doesn’t accidentally overhear and Jaskier slumps back into his chair and shoos her away grumpily.

“Text me if you want us to pick you up on the way to brunch.” He’s pretty much done with this conversation and annoyed that it happened at all. Jaskier only offers because he usually offers and Yenn’s supposed to politely decline because she usually does. Jaskier watches her check his watch and and then shrug.

“Okay, thank you.” Jaskier watches her, surprised that she accepted the offer, and then she leaves.

“Did you just offer my car to pick up Yenn?” Triss calls from the couch.

“Well, yeah, but she usually declines.” Triss doesn’t answer but he’s pretty sure she’s rolling her eyes at him regardless.

—————————————————

“Oh, Yenn’s talking to some guy! I wonder if it’s the same one who gave her his number?” Jaskier looks up from his phone, interested in this mysterious man that Yenn has said fuck all about, and his mouth immediately drops. He leans forward in his seat, pushing his sunglasses onto his head, outright gaping at him. Renfri squeezes herself over the console to get a look and lets out a loud gasp.

“Is that fucking _Geralt_?”

Jaskier is feeling a lot of different, very intense things. Anger, shock, a deep and vulnerable pain, aching and heart wrenching. They crash into him, overwhelming. He may just pass out.

He’s opening his door before he’s fully aware of what exactly he’s doing, utterly terrified. Two years. It’s been two years. He has no idea what he’s going to say, or even how he wants this whole conversation to go down. He just walks right up to them and throws his arm over Yenn’s shoulder, smiling like he’s not second from falling apart.

“Yennnefer! Come on, love, the girls are starving.” He turns to look at Geralt who’s looking at him like he’s just seen a ghost. Eyes wide, mouth barely parted, looking right at him. “Geralt. Long time no see big brother!” He feels a cruel glee when he sees Geralt flinch at the old petname. He’s never liked it when Jaskier called him that and it always hurt him so see how much he hated it, but now? Well, now he’s glad to twist the knife some.

“Oh. You’re _that_ Yennnefer.” Geralt’s whole body is tense, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. Yenn, the blessing that she is, has decided to lean into him and allow Jaskier to do this weird, macho, assertive bullshit that they usually hate.

“And you’re _that_ Geralt.” Yenn doesn’t even try to match her tone to Geralt’s. Where he sounded stunned she sounded downright smug. She did this on purpose and they all know it. Jaskier’s going to have to have some kind of conversation with her about this.

Geralt looks beautiful. His hair is still long, still bleached silver. He’s thicker now, fucking huge, and he still dresses in all black. His clothes are _tight_ , too, not making any effort to hide all that muscle. It feels like an arrow to his heart, how much he still makes his knees weak.

He remembers when he’d finally managed to convince Geralt to let him bleach his hair. He’d spent four months straight scrolling through picture after picture of silver hair on his instagram account. He was careful not to like any of them, in case anyone saw, and it made Jaskier’s heart ache. He’s glad to see that he’s still comfortable with that side of himself, the gentle side that wanted to feel pretty and be frivolous and silly.

“Jaskier. I uh.” Geralt rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, and Jaskier’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. “I’m just.” Geralt huffs and then looks over to Yenn, jaw clenched, and clearly begging her for some type of assistance. Yenn provides none. Jaskier loves her for that.

He’s desperate to hear Geralt say ‘ _I’m so sorry_ ’, or ‘ _I’ve missed you and I was an ass_ ’, or ‘ _please, Jaskier, I need your cock right now_ ’, even another sad fucking ‘ _Jaskier_ ’ would be enough. But Geralt says nothing and Jaskier just sighs, shaking his head. Out of all of his swirling, confusing storm of emotions, spite and anger are the easiest to recognize and the easiest to succumb to right now.

“Come on, Yenn, I’m not about to miss brunch for this.” He pulls her along, back towards the car. His words are dripping with spite.

“Jaskier, wait, I,-”

“See you in another two years, Geralt.” Geralt doesn’t say anything to that and Jaskier tries to ignore how disappointed he is. He ends up having to crawl in the back with Yenn because Renfri’s taken this opportunity to crawl into the front and steal his seat. He’s too distracted to bitch about it, watching Geralt through the window as he walks back to his own truck. He’s still got that same old, beaten to shit truck and a great ass, better even, probably.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Triss asks, glancing back at them in the rearview mirror as she pulls back out into the street. Yenn has a hand on his thigh, a silent and subtle gesture of comfort.

“That was Jaskier’s older brother flirting with his current girlfriend.” Renfri laughs, Triss gasps, and Yenn sneers.

“You know we’re not dating.”

“So you were flirting!” Is what Triss shoots right back, also sounding utterly delighted.

“Step-brother.” Is all Jaskier can bring himself to say, staring out the window long after Geralt’s disappeared from view.

—————————————————

“Wow, and he hasn’t spoken to you since he moved out?” Triss is leaning on her arms crossed on the table, listening to every single word Jaskier speaks. He usually loves this type of attention but right now he’d just really prefer it if they found anything else to talk about.

“Nope.” Jaskier sips at his coffee which is really his own fucking fault because it gave Yenn the perfect opening.

“Probably because you kept fucking his girlfriends.” Renfri laughs, Triss gasps, and it’s Jaskier’s turn to sneer.

“I accidentally _made out_ with _one_ girlfriend, and, in my fucking defense, I _did not know_ they were dating.” Jaskier turns to glare at Renfri but she just looks way too fucking proud of herself.

“I distinctly remember there being a handjob involved.” Triss gasps, again, eyes sparkling in pure joy.

“It was _you_?!”

“It was me.” Renfri says laughably. Yenn turns to face Jaskier with that terrifying glint in her eye and Jaskier gives her the most sincere, desperate, silent plea for her to shut her fucking mouth.

“And why, Jaskier, did you not know who your own brother was dating at the time?” Triss claps her hands together, radiating sunshine and probably having the best hangover of her life. Jaskier glares at her as he answers.

“Because he refused to speak to me about his love life.”

“And why wasn’t he speaking with you Jaskier?” Triss asks in her most innocent tone. Renfri doesn’t know this particular tidbit either, leaning close enough to him that he can feel one of her tits brush against his arm. Jaskier groans, slamming his forehead onto the table. If he doesn’t answer Yenn will just answer for him and then he’ll have to spend the entire meal as the butt of the joke. 

“Because I fucked his ex-boyfriend three days after they broke up.” Now it’s Renfri’s turn to gasp and Triss’s turn to laugh. Jaskier doesn’t need to look up to see the self satisfied, full on bitch face that Yenn’s making. He thinks he may strangle her when they get home. She’s earned it, there isn’t a single judge in the entire Continent that would convict him for it.

“Oh my gods, Jaskier, you’ve literally always been a disaster.”

Yenn chuckles into her cup, “Since day fucking one.” Jaskier smacks his head onto the table once more before sitting up and glaring and pointing at all of them.

“I would not have attended post-debauchery brunch if I’d known I was going to be treated like this.”

“I didn’t know Geralt had a _boyfriend_.”

“I say boyfriend, but Geralt was really just exploring his options and Eskel caught feelings really hard, really quick, and scared Geralt off. He’s really, very skittish and his dad was such an ass about the whole gay thing. Still is, probably.” Jaskier shrugs and hopes that this is the end of this conversation.

“And you fucked him?” Triss asks it right as the poor waiter walks up to the table with all of their food. She at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed, the other two are still smirking like his suffering is sweeter than sugar.

“Thank you,” Jaskier tells the waiter as she walks away and turns his attention on his plate. It looks delicious but there’s almost nothing in the world that could be good enough to make up for this conversation he’s been subjected to. “Yes, I fucked him. I was sixteen and he was beautiful and heartbroken and my cock took over. It can hardly be considered my fault.”

“Damn, with Eskel?” Renfri nods, impressed. “Nice pull.” Jaskier stabs his fork in her direction, glaring.

“Excuse you, young lady, he was begging to suck my cock. If anyone had pull it was him.” Renfri snorts and nods sarcastically. “You know, you fucked up my relationship with him for three months, you could sound a little more regretful.” Renfri just stuffs her mouth and shrugs, as unrepentant as ever.

“He was a shite boyfriend, he earned it.” Jaskier chooses to shovel a forkful of hashbrowns in mouth instead of arguing with her. He remembers what she had to say about Geralt as a boyfriend and he’s not interested in rehashing this old argument, especially since she’s kinda right. Jaskier lived with him and had no clue he was even dating anybody. Geralt doesn’t need him to defend him and after two years, he probably doesn’t want him to either.

Plus it’s fucking Renfri.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged fourteen; summer_

Jaskier’s not sure what he’s supposed to be feeling right now but what he is feeling is a looming sense of dread the deeper into this strange neighborhood they get. He fiddles with the edge of his sunglasses, tapping on them, nervous, anxious, kinda fucking mad.

This is ridiculous. It’s utter bullshit. Who doesn’t think to introduce their kid to their fiancé before they decide to get engaged, before they all move in together! This is terrible parenting. He’s read the articles, he knows what the experts have to say about this, and his mother is utterly fucking this up. He’s going to be scarred for life.

When they pull up there’s someone sitting on the porch, waiting for them.

“Oh, where’s his car?” His mom asks no one in particular, because there’s no way Jaskier could know where the man’s car is so he knows she’s not asking him. She pulls out her phone, “I’m just gonna call him real quick,” and then Jaskier’s left alone to handle the incredibly awkward situation. The guy who was waiting on the porch has stood up and he’s standing at the base of the steps, waiting for them Jaskier guesses, and there’s nothing for it. Jaskier rolls his eyes and hops out of the car.

“Uh, hi?” The guy nods, waving a little awkwardly at him. “Are we?” Jaskier waves his pointer fingers back and forth between them and finds halfway through that doesn’t want to finish that sentence. “Did she really forget to tell me her fiancé has a son?"

“Hm.” The guy rubs the back of his neck, clearly, deeply uncomfortable. “I knew about you.” Jaskier takes his sunglasses off and presses the meat of his palm into his eye. He can’t decide if he wants to cry or scream and he takes the moment to pull himself together.

“Wonderful.” He straightens up and squares his shoulders and looks the guy right in the eye. “I’m Jaskier.” He holds his hand out for a handshake but even as he does it it feels fucking weird. Is he really going to have to live with some asshole he’s never met ontop of his fucking son? His life is so disturbingly outside of his own control.

“Geralt.” Geralt shakes his hand, completely sincere. Now that he’s properly looking he realizes that Geralt is actually very cute. Long, brown hair that shines almost red in the sunlight, pulled back into a messy bun. Everything about him screams jock just as much as it screams shy and Jaskier can feel his cheeks turning pink.

Of course the gods would curse him with a cute step-brother. Now he’ll have to spend his days living with some cute guy like he’s stuck in some terrible fucking porno.

“Um, uh, I guess I’ll just start grabbing boxes?” Jaskier puts his sunglasses on his head and clears his throat, keeping his head down as he walks to the back end of the car.

“I’ll help.” Geralt offers, trailing a step behind him. Helping is probably why he’s here, which is nice of him. Jaskier pops open the back and when he does they can both hear his mother hissing angrily onto the phone already. It sinks the pebble of hope that Jaskier didn’t even know he was still capable of feeling. He grabs a box and refuses to even look in Geralt’s direction, embarrassed on his mother’s behalf, on his own behalf, and on Geralt’s behalf, too.

Jaskier walks into the house that Geralt was sitting on the porch of, the door unlocked, and after that he’s forced to wait for Geralt to pass him and lead him to where they’re expected to put these stupid fucking boxes.

“Just put them anywhere, we can deal with where it all goes when the car’s empty.” Even Geralt’s voice is nice to listen to. Jaskier drops the box onto the coffee table and looks around. The house is pristine, like a picture out of some country living magazine, white everything, soft wood, that shitty fake art they sell at Target. Did his mother already decorate the place?

“This is gonna be a shit show, isn’t it?” He turns to look at Geralt then, who’s dropped the box he was carrying right by the door and is standing around waiting for Jaskier.

“Yeah, most likely. This is my dad’s third engagement in the past five years. I wouldn’t get too comfortable.” Geralt shrugs and goes back outside and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, trying to resist his sudden and desperate desire to cry.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day; winter_

His phone’s ringing. Jaskier wasn’t aware of his phone ringing until he felt the slap to his chest accompanied by the loud, annoyed grunting. Once that roused him, he heard his phone, and now he’s being accosted on all sides.

“What the fuck Jaskier, we have a strict phones on silent rule on fucking Sunday.” Yenn is still smacking at him which is making it much more difficult for him to locate his phone. “Fucking answer it already, my gods.”

“I’m trying,” Jaskier sits up, bleary eyed, “fuck, where,” he looks around, lifting the pillows, throwing one onto Yenn’s face to stop her from hitting him, “where the fuck is it?” A hand shoots out from the blanket, heavily tattooed and far too hairy to belong to Yenn. In the outstretched arm is his phone, being waved around angrily so he can’t quite see who’s calling. “Oh, thank you.” Jaskier takes the phone and clicks the answer button before Yenn kills him.

“Hello? Fuck, sorry,” Yenn is smacking at him with the pillow with an endless stream of ‘ _get the fuck out, who the fuck calls this early on a Sunday, shut the_ fuck _up_ ’, and their lovely third has decided that his best chance at surviving this encounter is shoving his head under a pillow and ignoring the both of them. Which, fair.

“Hang on, fuck, okay, okay, sweet Melitele, _sorry_ , fuck.” Jaskier tries to crawl over them, occasionally holding the phone up to his ear to make sure whoever the fuck decided to call him at fucking eight am on a godsdamned Sunday wasn’t just some car dealership trying to tell him his car(which he couldn’t even drive if he did have one) was out of warranty or whatever it is that car dealerships call random people about. That would be worse than someone calling him to tell him someone died. He should be spending his morning basking in all this naked skin, not getting kicked out and berated for forgetting to silence his phone. It’s usually not a problem, most people know not to call on a fucking Sunday.

“Okay, fuck, sorry about that. Hello?” Jaskier walks into the hallway, naked and freezing, and pulls the phone away from his ear to see if he even knows who’s calling now that he can do so without getting smacked around. The name on his screen stops him cold, shock and dread and fear and a million other things all hitting him all at once. “ _Geralt_?” He asks into the phone, incredulous, not quite believing. It’s still the number he has programmed into his phone, the number he’d tried to call just last week, drunk off his ass and just as lovesick and heartbroken and stupid as ever.

“Hey Jask.” Jaskier feels the words hit him like a physical blow. His mouth opens and closes, a hundred half-formed sentences dying on his tongue before he can manage a single sound. He’s staring at their living room but he’s not really seeing it. Numbly taking in all the clothes spread throughout the room, draped over the couch, piled on the floor, a jacket hung over his bedroom door, a bra tossed onto the kitchen counter, a pair of sweatpants under his feet.

Geralt doesn’t say anything else but Jaskier can hear him breathing. It’s always been this way between the two of them, quiet and patient. Geralt won’t say anything until Jaskier finds his words and he won’t hang up either.

Jaskier wants to cry. The confusing and overwhelming and warring emotions he’d felt when he first saw him comes crashing back over him. The easiest, and clearest, emotion is is long simmering rage so Jaskier grabs a hold of it and runs with it.

“You had my number blocked for _two fucking_ _years_?” Jaskier puts on the sweatpants he’s standing on. He’s not nearly as cold as he was a few minutes ago, the rage inside him keeping him plenty warm, but the physical distraction is good, a goal, something to do with his hands.

“I kinda forgot I did that.” Jaskier clenches his teeth and tries to control his breathing. He wants to scream. He’s earned a good scream, dammit. He walks over to the bookshelf and pulls down a few of the thick, boring history books that Yenn pretends to genuinely enjoy so he can reach the hidden pack of cigarettes. He’s earned this, too, and he’s been meaning to throw out this pack for a while now anyways.

“That’s wonderful, Geralt. It really makes me feel much better hearing that.” Jaskier pulls out a cigarette and lights it, and then because he’s really much angrier than he has been in a long time he pulls out a second one and tucks it behind his ear before crushing the box in his hands and tossing it in the trash on his way into the kitchen. He tosses the lighter on the counter and leans against it, staring at the dishes still piled up in the sink. He really should do those at some point. “Well, what do you want?”

“I’m sorry Jaskier.” Those three fucking words cut through his anger quicker than anything else ever could. The fight leaves him completely, immediately, and his heart surges with foolish, childish, stupid hope. It hurts. His chest aches. He hangs his head and smokes his cigarette and focuses on what he can hear of Geralt’s own slow shuffling about, doing whatever he does at eight am on a Sunday.

“Two years.” It’s all he can bring himself to say. Two years and his heart still aches like it was yesterday. Jaskier reaches across the way to pull out a coffee mug from the sink and ashes into it. The problem with the two of them pretending they don’t smoke is that there are no ashtrays laying around.

“I know Jask.” Geralt’s tone is impenetrable. He’d have an easier time knowing what he’s trying to say if he could see his face. He had four years to figure out his every expression and learn how to interpret his few words and grunts, and that thought just twists his heart. Going from seeing him every single day to not even an answered text is heart wrenching. And he’d simply just forgotten he’d blocked him. What a fucking ass.

“Can we get together sometime? Talk?” Jaskier’s betrayer, foolish fucking heart soars. Jaskier pulls in a deep breath, keeping his mouth occupied with the smoke filling his lungs, trying very hard not to immediately agree. He’s an adult, he’s got more self respect than going whenever Geralt finally deigns to call. He busies his hands by pulling ingredients out of the fridge for breakfast. He’s nearing the end of his first cigarette and he needs something more to do with his hands.

“It’s been two years and you expect me to just drop everything to go see you?” He can hear Geralt sighing on the line and he’s certain he knows exactly what expression he’s making, too. He’s going to push Geralt away after pining and begging for him to come back for, again, _two fucking years_ and he can’t bring himself to stop doing it.

“I’m trying to apologize for that Jaskier.” Jaskier feels the last of his fight flee from his body. He’s a fool who has never once been able to deny Geralt a single thing he’s asked him for, even more so since he rarely asks for anything at all. Jaskier drops the butt of his cigarette into the coffee mug and swirls around the thin dregs of old coffee and new ashes to ensure that it’s been completely snuffed out. Without the anger to hold onto all he feels is cracked open, vulnerable and raw and so fucking pitiful.

“I called every day for the first six months.” He goes about preparing their meal, making sure to cook enough for four. He hasn’t seen Renfri yet this morning but it wouldn’t surprise him if she emerged from some corner and expected to be fed. She’s like a stray cat he made the mistake of feeding once and now expects to be cared for like royalty whenever she comes around. He loves her dearly and he also really needs to find a new hiding spot for their spare key. Geralt’s silent for a long time. Jaskier keeps the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, unwilling to either speak again or hang up yet.

“If you don’t want to see me I’ll understand.” Jaskier sighs and tugs the second cigarette from his ear. He’s a fool, and Geralt’s a fool, too, if he really thinks he doesn’t want him in his life.

“I want to see you, Geralt. Of course I want to.” It hurts. He feels a full body ache like he’s coming down with something particularly nasty. It’s exactly what he’s spent two years hoping to receive and it _hurts_.

“I’m in town on Wednesday for classes.” Jaskier busies his hands opening up some avocados while he leaves the tomatoes to heat up in the pan, cigarette burning away slowly between his fingers.

“Classes?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve started taking classes at the community college.”

“Well? What for? C’mon Geralt don’t make me pull teeth like usual.” Jaskier remembers Geralt rolling his eyes when Jaskier had asked him about what schools he was going to apply to in those last few weeks they were together. He’d been so confident that he didn’t need to waste his time with more schooling, his whole future already set out ahead of him. Jaskier’s curious to see what could possibly convince him to go back after all that easy confidence.

“Vesemir’s training me for management and he’s promised me I’ll get paid better if I get a business management degree. A lot better.”

“Oh, so you’re still working for Vesemir? That’s wonderful.” Jaskier drops the eggs in the pan with the tomatoes as he hears Yenn’s bare feet slapping on the wood floors.

“Who’re you talking to?” She snatches the cigarette out of his mouth and winks when he sticks his tongue out at her about it. She’s bare once more, wrapped up in the blankets, and he spares a fleeting thought of pity for their third left in her bed without a blanket. The heater keeps the room fairly warm but still. He mouths ‘ _Geralt_ ’ at her and she lifts up one eyebrow, impressed.

“Hm. You should come visit the sanctuary sometime. You’d love it.” Jaskier pulls down a few plates and the coffee while Yenn sets to getting the coffee pot filled with water.

“What’re you making for breakfast?” Yenn asks with no regard for him being on the phone. He holds out the mug he’s been ashing into for her to take and she does so with a sneer. He just shrugs.

He angles the phone away from his mouth, “Eggs in hell,” and then returns the phone to it’s original position so he can answer Geralt, “maybe when it’s not so cold out, yeah? I’d love to.” He drops two slices of bread into the toaster on top of the fridge(their apartment really is teeny tiny) and opens the fridge, pulling the phone away from his face once more to ask Yenn, “bacon or ham?” 

“Okay. I’ll call you on Wednesday.” He can hear Geralt saying on the phone and he pulls it back to his face. Their third finally walks into the room, scratching at his chest and just as gloriously nude as Yenn.

“I vote bacon.” He says as Yenn nods in agreement and he pulls the bacon out.

“Okay, but don’t call before two. I have classes all morning.” He gets distracted by watching Yenn kissing him, far too filthy for this early in the morning.

“Okay.” And that’s that, Geralt hangs up.

Jaskier points his phone at Yenn, accusatorial. He’s not angry, he doesn’t know if he’s ever been actually angry with Yenn, but he is reminded of how upset he was when he first saw Geralt a week ago, flirting with her. He’d avoided the conversation like a coward but now that Geralt’s back, and begging him to spend time with him, he feels he really should have it.

“You knew he was in town. You knew he was taking college classes. You knew he was a fifteen minute drive away. For how long?” Yenn isn’t intimidated, never once has been. She just looks at him with her cold, calculating, guarded stare, and says nothing. Their third ignores them in favor of searching the kitchen for a coffee mug and busies himself with quietly walking around them to add in some milk, too.

Jaskier sighs and starts plating their food for them as he finishes up the bacon. They could stand here and glare at eachother all morning, they’ve done it before, but there’s a beautiful man they haven’t run off yet and good food and Geralt’s back. Jaskier tries to keep his hopes down, it won’t be anything like it was when they lived together. When he places her plate in front of her she’s looking around under the papers in search of something with all of her hair pulled into a ponytail with her other hand. He holds his wrist out for her, most of his friends are women and it’s just easier to wear a few hair ties on his wrist at all times. She takes it without thanks.

Jaskier hands a plate over to their gorgeous third and his eyes light up at the sight of it. “Oh, thank you.” He starts shoveling the food in his mouth immediately, leaned against the countertop. Jaskier smirks.

“Did you think I was just going to kick out unfed? I’m a much better host than that, and you more than earned it.” He winks and it makes him blush some, shrugging.

“S’what most couples do when they wake up and their third is still around.” Jaskier makes up his own plate, shaking his head. He glances over to Yenn to see if she’ll make her usual remarks about the two of them not being a couple but she’s strangely quiet. Jaskier knows better than to read too much into it.

“Horrid people. We’re much better trained than all that. Here,” Jaskier picks his phone back up and holds it out for him, “give me your number. I’m sure we’d love to see you again. I at least would.” He turns to glance at Yenn who’s just smiling and watching them while she eats at the table like a civilized woman, tits out. The guy shrugs and takes Jaskier’s phone, programming his number.

“You just feel guilty because you can’t remember my name.” Jaskier shrugs and takes his phone back, making no attempt to hide the fact that he is looking to see what name he’d programmed into his phone.

“Well, Lambert, it’s lovely to meet you.” Lambert snorts and rolls his eyes.

“I gotta leave for work soon if I wanna make it in time, you mind if I take a shower?”

Jaskier points out where the bathroom is with his fork and sits down at the table across from Yenn. “Sure, have at it. Just don’t use her fancy shampoos or she’ll never shut the fuck up about it.” Yenn throws a chunk of toast at him for that and Lambert chuckles, draining his coffee.

“Thanks.” And with that Lambert walks off back to their bedroom, probably in search of his clothes, and Jaskier tosses the toast back at Yenn who bats it away easily enough. She’s looking at him seriously from over the rim of her coffee mug, sipping her coffee slowly. Like an evil villain waiting to strike. 

“What?”

“He was in a bad way when he first started coming to the meetings. He needed time before I sprang you on him. Plus, Jaskier,” she looks him right in the eyes. She looks gentle, almost like she feels guilty, “I didn’t know you were still trying to call him.” Jaskier drops his head in his hands, groaning.

“Yes, well, we both know I’m a very pathetic man.” He hears Yenn huff out an almost laugh and the scrape of her fork.

“It’s been two years. I wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse if I told you.” Jaskier sighs and looks up at her, a sad smile on his face.

“You must not remember our first fight.” Yenn’s face is guarded but he can read her every minute expression. He’s known her for seven years, she can’t hide from him even when she wants to.

“Our fight lasted one month.” Jaskier called and texted her every single day for a month. He would have kept it up for two years if she’d lasted that long and it’s such a given to him that he would that he thinks it’s impossible for her to not have known that about him. He could tell her but it’s just as likely to piss her off as it is to make her smile. She’s never been comfortable with how easily and how deeply he’s loved her.

Their attention is captured by Lambert walking back into the hall, still naked, with a pile of clothes in his arms. They watch him go into the bathroom and they hear him pull back the shower curtain. Yenn drains her coffee and gets up, leaving her blanket behind.

“More coffee?”

“Oh, please.” And then Lambert walks back out into the hall, arms crossed, staring at the ground in confusion.

“There’s a woman in your bath.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs, getting up to plate Renfri’s food for her and make her some toast, too. Yenn laughs, setting the coffee pot back down.

“That’s just our little stray.” She pats him on the shoulder and Lambert doesn’t relax at all, turning to watch her lean into the bathroom. “Renfri! Get the fuck up you weirdo.” Jaskier digs around in the drawer, looking for a clean fork, and hears Renfri grumbling from the bathroom. “Jaskier’s bed was empty, why didn’t you just sleep in there?”

“Breakfast, Renfri!” Jaskier calls out, finding a fork and setting it on the plate, turning to grab a coffee mug for her next. He glances at Lambert and rolls his eyes once more. “I keep telling Yenn we need to change where we hide the fucking spare key.” Lambert looks a little bit more relaxed now, having been sufficiently assured that he didn’t just sleep with a couple of people who store dead bodies in their bathtub.

“He sleeps in the nude, Yenn. Didn’t want to risk it.” Renfri finally emerges from the bathroom, not even bothering to spare a glance at Lambert, and makes a direct line for the coffee Jaskier’s holding out for her.

“You’re all fucking weird, aren’t you?” Lambert asks with a smirk and Jaskier winks, pouring out her coffee.

“You kinky fucks were loud last night.” She grabs her food and plops into Jaskier’s seat.

Yenn comes out of the bathroom carrying one of the couch cushions and a blanket. “Bathroom’s all clear, pet.”

“Did you text one of us to ask if you could crash here?” Jaskier asks her as he grabs the toast that’s only just popped up from the toaster. He’s not upset, he just wishes she would actually use the phone she’s glued to half the time. Not to mention the fact that he’s not entirely sure where his phone is right now. He feels like he just had it five minutes ago, he should try to find it soon.

Yenn sits back down at her chair and Lambert retreats back into the bathroom and Renfri ignores his questions. He doesn’t really expect much of an answer when he asks her things anyway. She leans over her plate of food, closer to Yenn, and makes a charade of whispering conspiratorially.

“Did you use your strap on?” Yenn nods, looking proud of herself. Jaskier drops Renfri’s toast on her plate before reaching over her to grab his own plate and leans against the wall with a loud, satisfied sigh.

“Fun night.”

“Where do you even find these guys?”Renfri snorts, leaning back into her chair and shaking her head.

“Tinder, darling. We’re not shy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is mostly written already and I've been writing it to help me through my writers block with my other long running fic. Working on that full time for as long as I have has me burned out a little and so this fic came pouring out of me in like two days because I just needed somewhere to put all the angst and fucked up shit I couldn't pour into that one lol
> 
> Here's there promised list of explicit warnings for you guys:  
> Yenn is four years older then Jaskier. They don't start having sex until he is nineteen  
> Geralt and Jaskier are step-brothers with chemistry they're both trying to ignore  
> When Yenn and Geralt begin dating Yenn cheats on him with Jaskier. It's more complex than that but it's how Jaskier sees it for a long time and he's super chill with engaging in that behavior  
> There is a lot of drinking and smoking in this, they're disaster college kids  
> There's explicit underage sex between Jaskier and other kids his age in higschool and implied underage sec between Geralt and others in highschool  
> There's also subtle and implied homophobia/some implied internalized homophobia with Geralt


	2. eat the white rose or the red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna make a quick note that the title and the chapter titles are all from this super neat article I read about how hunger is a common substitute for sex in folklore and child's stories. It's called Hunger is the Beginning of Every Folktale if you wanna look it up. Good read. <3

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day, aged nineteen; winter_

Jaskier leans his shoulder against the building and watches Geralt wait for his coffee with a smile. He’s wearing one of Yenn’s jackets because Jaskier gets too distracted by the patterns and the colors to ever pick out a coat that will actually keep him warm. Thankfully he lives with her so he never has to suffer through getting cut off from borrowing her things the way Renfri does.

Geralt’s cheeks are a light pink and Jaskier knows it’s because of his discomfort with their situation and not the winter wind. He’s doing a pretty good joke of not laughing at him outright.

“I can’t believe they let you walk through the drive through like this.” Geralt’s wearing a thick leather jacket, from what he can tell it looks like it’s lined with something very soft, and there’s a mustard yellow scarf wrapped around his neck, too.

“They’ve stopped trying to fight me on it.” Geralt shakes his head but Jaskier can see the hint of a smile tugging on his lips all the same. Geralt only answers him with a ‘hm’ and thanks the barista twice more as she hands his coffee. “Where’d you get that scarf, anyway?”

They have to walk down the rest of the drive through and hop over the curb in order to get to the sidewalk, but it’s still a much quicker and much less frustrating experience then having to go inside. Geralt tugs on the scarf some, pulling it out of the way of his mouth, adjusting it to fall against his chest in a more attractive way. “A coworker of mine. His wife’s been teaching their kid how to crochet, she made one for everyone at the sanctuary. Do you like it?” Jaskier wasn’t sure if he liked it or not when he’d asked but it’s such a sweet little story.

“It looks good. I’m not used to seeing you wear color.” Geralt smirks at that, bumping their shoulders together as they continue to walk. It’s not a walk with a destination, just a casual walk, an impromptu tour of the small college town.

“Yeah, their daughter picked it out.” Geralt just shrugged. Jaskier could tell that he liked it, and he saw it as something precious, which only further endeared Jaskier to it’s bright coloring. He himself has never once shied away from a bright color, and he’s glad someone’s finally managed to get Geralt to wear more than just black. Even Yenn balances out her style with white from time to time.

Jaskier bites his lip when he realizes the similarity. Quiet, guarded, goth, with a hidden gentleness. He’s doomed to a very specific type it seems.

“Glad to see you’re still bleaching your hair.” Geralt huffs, turning to see if he’s being serious.

“Why? It’s just my hair.” Jaskier shrugs, sipping his coffee and letting it warm him from the inside out.

“It’s nice. The color’s always suited you. Of course we could always try out a nice peachy pink next. That’s become quite the trend lately.” Geralt’s lips quirk in a guarded smile and Jaskier beams.

“You talk to the folks anytime recently?” Jaskier asks it for a subject change, not because he particularly worries about Geralt’s relationship with them. They’ve all made their choices.

“Should I have?” Jaskier smiles, unsurprised at his answer.

“No, just curious. I talk to mom once a week on the phone but I can’t figure out how they’re still married.” Geralt lets out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“I’m still shocked they actually went through with it at all.” Jaskier laughs, too. Seeing Geralt smiling, Geralt laughing, it twists his heart. That same old, ache springs forth, even worse now that he’s standing so close and hearing that beautiful laugh. He’s breathtaking. The most beautiful man he’s ever seen. He holds his travel mug tighter, close to his chest to feel the warmth and prevent himself from doing anything stupid.

It’s awkward between them. Jaskier knew it would be, Geralt’s always been uncomfortable with people and uselessly awkward because of it, but there was a time where it wasn’t. Geralt was comfortable around him once. He was quiet because Geralt’s always quiet, but there was none of that tension in his shoulders, none of the fidgeting. Geralt was comfortable because Jaskier didn’t expect him to speak, Jaskier could fill the silence between them easily, happily. He wants that again, but he’s struggling to find words. His throat feels tight. His mind can’t settle on any one subject. He feels embarrassed, foolish, out of place. He doesn’t feel like he belongs here by Geralt’s side anymore. They aren’t brothers, not really, and neither of them actually liked their parents. There’s nothing actually keeping him here.

He’s a fool.

“Can we just.” Jaskier looks down to his feet, kicking at a rock and watching it skitter into the road. “Can we just pretend like we had the whole conversation already? You forgive me, I forgive you, decide to be friends, and just skip straight to not feeling so fucking awkward around eachother?” Jaskier’s a coward. He doesn’t want to have to talk about it because he might loose Geralt again in the aftermath. He doesn’t want to have to admit to anything more than he already has. ‘ _Why didn’t you call sooner you fucking ass._ ’

He bites his tongue and looks up at him. Geralt looks as exhausted as Jaskier feels, defeated almost. ‘ _Two years of nothing from you, why come back now._ ’ He doesn’t want to know. Whatever reason he has, it’s not the right one, it’s not the reason Jaskier wants to hear. He only just got him back, he can’t risk chasing him away again.

“Yeah, Jask. That sounds good.” Geralt hesitates before he smiles, letting his shoulders relax. Jaskier’s spent four years of his life reading too closely into those small moments, he can’t go back to that again. He just can’t. “I missed you.” Geralt almost whispers it, his eyes so soft, so fond. It sends a flood of warmth in Jaskier’s chest despite himself. He shouldn’t allow himself to be so easily swayed, allow his heart to be so easily reclaimed.

Jaskier feels like such an ass.

“I missed you, too, big brother.” Jaskier tries to say it with a laugh, playful and light. He wants to rush past this, hide his vulnerable underbelly, the way his heart hasn’t been his own since day fucking one. Geralt frowns and looks away, almost wincing at the word ‘brother’ and it feels like a knife in Jaskier’s gut. Geralt’s been the only family he’s ever had that he ever liked and that ever liked him, and it hurts to see how much Geralt hates to be reminded of it.

“So, tell me about the sanctuary! If I remember it correctly it’s mainly a park reservation isn’t it?” Jaskier’s looked it up before. Several times, actually. He can sum up their mission statement pretty well by now. He’s only asking to give Geralt something more comfortable to talk about.

“It is, yeah. The sanctuary is just a small bit of it, we keep the wolf dogs enclosed so they don’t over hunt the local deer. We work pretty closely with the park rangers, too.” Jaskier listens to Geralt go on, visibly relaxing under Jaskier’s continued questioning. Pretty soon they fall into their old patterns, much easier now that neither of them are carrying the weight of their two years of silence. Geralt doesn’t have to feel guilty and Jaskier doesn’t have to feel raw or bitter.

It’s good, it’s enough. This can easily be enough. Jaskier’s just glad that Geralt’s here, talking to him, smiling with him. He’s missed this. He’s missed it even more than he realized.

—————————————————

_to: Geralt, friday 16:02_

come out for drinks!

_from: Geralt, friday 16:10_

I have the early shift on Saturday.

_to: Geralt, friday 16:11_

boooooooooooo

_from: Geralt, friday 16:18_

Be safe.

_to: Geralt, friday 16:20_

oh darling, what you mean is dont get caught

_from: Geralt, friday 16:22_

Good to know some things never change.

_to: Geralt, friday 16:23_

we are beginning our transition out of our rebellious phases next week

_from: Geralt, friday 16:38_

If you go out on Thursday I’ll come.

_to: Geralt, friday 17:10_

i’ll hold you to it ;)

—————————————————

_to: Lambert, friday 21:23_

come out for drinks! you can properly meet the feral stray you found sleeping in my bathtub

_to: Lambert, friday 21:23_

[a blurry photo of the front of a pub with the sign clearly visible. Renfri is smoking and her face is a blurry mixture of laughing and snarling]

_to: Lambert, friday 21:24_

this is jaskier, btw

_from: Lambert, friday 21:57_

How late are you guys gonna be out

_to: Lambert, friday 22:40_

[a three second video of Jaskier and Yennnefer throwing back shots while Renfri screams, out of shot, ‘ _all fucking night_ ’]

_from: Lambert, friday 23:18_

Send me the addressIf you guys hop bars before I get there I’ll fucking bite you

_to: Lambert, friday 23:20_

promise? ;) ;)

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged fourteen; summer_

Jaskier catches Geralt hesitate on his way out through the dining room to the kitchen, staring at him. He’s been moved in for about a month now and it’s still awkward. Geralt doesn’t go out much, and Jaskier doesn’t really know anyone in the neighborhood, but despite them both being home they haven’t spoken all that much yet.

He can see Geralt leaning against the doorway and watching him. He looks kind of like a curious puppy, head tilted to the side, and it’s cute. Jaskier waits to see if he’ll say anything.

Geralt’s dad is kinda a dick but so is his own mom so it’s nothing he hasn’t had to put up with before. And this house is huge, so avoiding them hasn’t proved to be difficult at all. The best part of this house is the guest bedroom because of the giant tree branch tucked right up to the window, it makes sneaking out at night way easier than it used to be back in their old house.

“I can paint yours next, if you’d like.” Jaskier can see Geralt avert his gaze, shifting his weight around, embarrassed at being caught. Jaskier smiles to himself but doesn’t bother looking over at him directly. He doesn’t want to risk smearing his nails.

“Hm.” Geralt comes closer, poking at the different nail colors he has stacked in his box. “Your mom doesn’t care?” Jaskier glances up at him while he dunks the brush back into paint, bemused.

“No? Why would she, it’s just nail polish.” Geralt doesn’t find that as satisfactory of an answer as Jaskier does. In fact he looks confused, picking up colors and inspecting them closely.

“Well, she did care when I wore red.” Jaskier clears his throat and pitches his tone into something higher, mimicking his mother. “Come now _Julian_ , I don’t comment on most of these silly little rebellions of yours, but _red_? Go take that off.” Jaskier chuckles, shaking his head. Geralt’s quiet for a moment but Jaskier can see the barely there quirk of his lips, the closest he’s ever gotten to making Geralt smile. He’s learned by now that Geralt is more willing to talk to him when he lets these little silences pass between them without filling them up with his usual nonsense. At least now he’s got something to do with his hands while he bites his tongue.

“She calls you Julian, but you prefer Jaskier, right?” Jaskier smiles and nods. He’d introduced himself as Jaskier but Geralt hasn’t heard anyone call him anything other than Julian since they settled in this house. He honestly wasn’t sure if Geralt even remembered his preferred name.

“Yeah, it’s something my grandmother used to call me. I always liked it better.” Geralt nods, putting down the glittery purple and picking up the black polish. Jaskier hasn’t seen him wear anything other than black except for some thin, bright red bomber style jacket with the logo of his highschool soccer team on it. It doesn’t surprise Jaskier at all that he’d choose black.

“Why is red a bad color?” Jaskier can’t stop giggling at the memory of that argument, shaking his head. He takes a moment to compose himself enough to adopt his mother’s tone once more.

“ _It’s a whore’s color._ ” Jaskier breaks out in laughter once more, holding the brush away from his hand so he doesn’t fuck anything up. He can hear Geralt’s own, quieter chuckles joining in and it’s almost a heady experience. In the span of five minutes he’s managed to not only make Geralt smile, but laugh, too.

“Really? A whore’s color?” Jaskier sighs, shrugging.

“Apparently.”

“So you’re putting on red to piss her off?” Jaskier picks up his hand and wiggles his fingers around, enjoying the way the bright red pant shines in the fading sunlight.

“Exactly. Sit down, I’m almost done and then I can do yours.” Honestly, Jaskier is shocked when Geralt actually does sit down next to him, moving the chair to face him better. He’s still got the black nail polish in his hands and he’s turning it around and scratching at the edge of the label, clearly a little nervous. It’s endearing. Jaskier’s heart flutters a little in his chest and he can feel himself blushing. It’s the stupidest thing, being so attracted to his new, soon to be step-brother, and he’s trying his best to stifle this stupid little crush before it becomes something much, much worse.

Jaskier distracts himself by switching hands, painting his right hand a little slower and more carefully. He can’t help but glance over at Geralt’s hands as he continues to fidget, and catches sight of the state of his nails.

“Do you usually bite your nails?” Jaskier glances up at him, one eyebrow raised. He’d seen him chewing on his nails but didn’t think much of it until now. Geralt’s nail beds are utterly ruined, the nail far too short, the meat of his fingers all kinds of chewed up and calloused.

Geralt nods, frowning. “Bad habit.” Jaskier carefully captures one of his wrists, holding his hand up so he can inspect his nails closer, surprised by how mangled they really are. Geralt tenses when he touches him but doesn’t resist, either.

“Man, does it hurt? That looks like it would hurt.”

Geralt shrugs, “Not really? It probably used to but. Not anymore.” Jaskier nods, a little impressed, a little grossed out.

“Well, the nail polish will probably help you to stop doing that. It tastes awful.” Geralt tilts his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?” Jaskier lets go of his wrist and goes back to finishing up his opposite hand.

“Yeah. My grandma did it to my mom when she was a kid. She used to bite her nails ‘till she bled. Lot like you I imagine.” Jaskier can see Geralt turning his hand around to inspect his nails more closely now himself.

It’s then that Geralt’s dad comes home. The second Geralt hears the door open he sits up straight in the chair, dropping the bottle of nail polish and closing his expression off into an unreadable mask. Jaskier looks up at him, confused, and jumps when he feels a hand slam down on his shoulder. The brush of the polish smears against his knuckle and he frowns angrily at his hand.

“Your mother lets you do this shit?” Jaskier sneers, glancing over at Geralt who’s busy scratching at the table idly. He’s very purposefully no looking at anything at all.

“Obviously.” Jaskier says with every ounce of sarcasm he can muster.

“You lookin’ to get your own nails done, son?” Geralt flinches, tucking his hands into his arms, crossing them and glancing up at his father nervously.

“No.” His jaw is clenched, his whole body taut. He looks ready to sprint away at the drop of a hat.

“Hm.” Geralt’s dad shakes his shoulder a little and Jaskier tries not to snap at him for it. He’s going to fuck up his nails if he keeps acting like this. “Now, I like your mother, but she’s let you run around just doing whatever you want for too long. This isn’t normal, and she’s done you a disservice letting you think it is.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, hard, and drops the brush back into the polish, not bothering to screw it shut.

“It _is_ normal. It’s fucking nail polish.” Geralt’s gaze snaps over to him, shocked, but still deathly quiet. Jaskier hasn’t spoken with Geralt’s father much, preferring to ignore him, and now he can see exactly why he felt so uncomfortable around him. It explains why Geralt’s so skittish.

“Oh, okay, so you think you’re grown?” His tone makes Jaskier sneer again, haughty and wondering if this guy is serious.

“No, I think I’m fourteen and like to paint my nails.” Geralt’s dad snatches up the box of his polish, clinking them all around loudly. He ends up bumping the table hard enough to knock over the red polish, sending the red polish splattering over the wood. Jaskier glares down at the table, hands pressed into the wood, fingers splayed, and ignores him as he screams some bullshit about how he needs to ‘grow up’ and ‘start acting like a man’ and whatever else he feels he needs to say to a fourteen year old to feel big and strong. He can hear his bottles of nail polish being slammed into the trashcan and he knows that some of them are broken, but he doesn’t speak a single word. He’s never been this angry before and it feels terrifying, a murderous calm burning his body from the inside.

Geralt is silent through all of it, sitting there and watching Jaskier through his father’s entire childish tirade. Jaskier’s seen his mother throw tantrums before, but they’ve never been like this. This is like an actual child having been told he’s not allowed to have ice cream before dinner. It’s quick, though, once he’s thrown away the polishes he ends up not having much else to yell about so he calms down, pushing his back back onto his sweaty head and huffing.

“Now clean that fucking mess up and go to your room.” Jaskier doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even bother looking at him, but he walks off anyways, off to go do the gods know what now that he’s tired himself out. Jaskier sees Geralt get up and walk into the kitchen. He hears the water run for a moment. He sees Geralt come back, silent, and start trying to clean up the puddle of red nail polish off the kitchen table.

Jaskier’s not sure what to do with this feeling. He’s never been this blindingly angry, he has no idea where to put all of this. He watches Geralt smear the polish around, ruining a dishtowel and the table, and he barely feels anything at all.

Eventually Geralt sighs, shoulders slumping. “It’s not coming up.”

“You have to use acetone.” Jaskier’s tone is even, quiet, and doesn’t do any justice to the rage boiling away inside him.

“What’s that?” He can feel Geralt’s eyes on him but he doesn’t look up, still staring at the red puddle. He’s still got three nails he hadn’t been able to paint yet.

“Finger nail polish remover. I had a bottle of it in that box your dad just threw away.” Geralt disappears back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with the correct bottle. It’s covered in a few different colors of polish and it makes Jaskier squeeze his eyes shut. He can smell it when Geralt pours it onto the table, listens to him trying to scrub it up. His quiet scrubbing, gentle breathing, and just his overall presence really, help him to cam down.

“It’s still not really coming up.” Geralt sounds so personally offended that it surprises a laugh out of Jaskier.

“Yeah, nail polish is a fucking bitch to clean. Just leave it, let my mom throw a hissy fit about it. She’ll buy a new one and only complain about it the whole time.” Geralt straightens up, fumbling with the rag nervously. It’s completely ruined.

“I guess I can’t just throw this in the wash, then, huh?” Jaskier giggles, finally looking up at him.

“No. Unfortunately that’s also ruined.” He looks so tense, so anxious, it fucking hurts. Geralt tosses the rag to the table and stares at the mess they’ve made.

“Is he normally like that?” Geralt nods, not willing to look up at him. Jaskier sighs, frowning. “That’s fucked up.” Geralt’s lips twitch, an almost smile, and Jaskier leans forward, trying to capture his direct attention.

“Hey,” Geralt glances up at him, holding his gaze for a second and looking all the world like a terrified pup ready to run away at the slightest hint of danger. Jaskier smiles to try and put him at ease. “Thank you.”

—————————————————

A couple of days later Jaskier walks into Geralt’s bedroom and hops up onto his bed. He flips open a brand new box full of brand new polishes and even a new file and buffer bar. His mother’s little silent apology. A pitiful excuse of an olive branch.

“Alright, come on.” He points at Geralt’s feet and makes grabby hands. Geralt pauses his computer game and slips his headphones down to his neck, looking at him confused. “I’m gonna paint your toe nails.” Geralt looks at him like he’s crazy and doesn’t move. Jaskier smiles, mischievous and spiteful, and waves around his brand new black polish.

“Come on, I promise not to ruin your goth girl aesthetic.” Geralt huffs, smirking, and wordlessly pulls his socks off, tossing his feet onto the bed.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Jaskier pulls out his nail clippers and the nail file thingy and lifts up one of his feet so he can situate himself around him, dropping it to sit on his thigh.

“Says the man who’s doing what the crazy man asks him to.” Geralt shrugs and turns back to his game but doesn’t throw his headphones back on.

“True enough.” They’re quiet for a while after that. Geralt glances over at Jaskier, keeping tabs on what he’s up to, and Jaskier sees that smile he’s trying not to show. It’s cute. He’s cute. Jaskier’s not too surprised that Geralt’s letting him do this but he’s glad nonetheless for it. A little rebellion is good for the soul and Geralt definitely needs a little rebellion. It’s not out of the normal for him to wear socks, even in the summer like this, so there’s very little chance he’ll get caught, and Geralt had so clearly wanted to paint his nails before his dad came into the room and lost his shit.

Jaskier isn’t sheltered, or stupid. If Geralt’s dad didn’t mind loosing his shit over something to small so quickly then he knows what happened a few days ago will only get worse and more frequent as time goes on. He’s not exactly looking forward to it, but. Well. As much as he doesn’t like it, he really hopes that their parents end up going through with this stupid marriage. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt alone in this. It looks like it really sucks.

He’s already painted one of Geralt’s feet and has just started on the other one when Geralt finally speaks up. Jaskier’s been humming, hyper focused on making sure this is the best paint job he’s ever fucking given anyone before.

“Hey, Jaskier?” Jaskier looks up, tongue sticking out, curious.

“Huh?”

“Where do you go at night?” Jaskier’s mouth falls open, surprised. He didn’t realize anyone had noticed him sneaking out, much less Geralt.

“Oh, uh. Well?” Geralt doesn’t look at him, still focused on his game, giving him space probably. Jaskier’s noticed that Geralt tends to treat people exactly how he’d prefer to be treated. Most people would think he was being rude, but Jaskier likes to think that after a month of being around him he’s figured him out a little. This much, at least. “I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.”

“You weren’t. I just, uh. I just noticed.” Jaskier smirks, turning back to his toenails.

“Oh? How come?” Geralt glances over at him, a flash of those nearly golden eyes, and says nothing. Jaskier returns his attention to Geralt’s toes, he’s almost done, and weighs his options. He could let this little conversation die. His mother didn’t like how much time he spent with Yenn, it became the center for a lot of arguments, and it’s why he sneaks out most of the time to see her. He doesn’t think that Geralt is the type to go tattle telling, he’s probably just curious. On the other hand, they don’t talk much, and he wants to talk to Geralt more. Refusing to talk about the one conversation topic he ever actually brought up on his own might make him less likely to try and talk to him in the future.

Jaskier likes Geralt. He’s more than his cute face. He’s sweet, despite the way he dad is. It’s interesting to see the difference between Geralt and Yenn. They have similar fathers, from what scant evidence Jaskier has seen, and they’re both skittish, both desperate for gentleness, both heavily guarded. But where Yenn has decided to push away, Geralt has decided to reach out. It’s fascinating.

“Secret for a secret?” Geralt ‘hm’s and Jaskier smiles. “I’ll even go first.” Geralt smiles now, pausing his game to look him in the eye.

“Alright.”

“I’m afraid it’s not too exciting. I’m just going out with a friend of mine.”

“That’s it?” Geralt clearly knows there’s more to it, but Jaskier just shrugs. “Well, that’s hardly worth my secret.” Jaskier gasps, playing at being offended.

“You can’t just back out now! I’ve given you my secret.”

“You hardly gave me anything at all.” Jaskier makes a play of accepting his fate, resigning himself to making himself truly vulnerable. It gets Geralt looking reluctantly amused by him, and that’s a good look on him.

“Very well, Geralt. I’ll share two secrets in return for your measly one.” Jaskier caps the polish and puts it away. “Don’t move, yet. They still need to dry. Should I put on a top coat? You play sports don’t you? I’ll go ahead and add the top coat.” He picks through his box for it, buying himself a little time. He doesn’t want Geralt to reduce his friendship with Yenn to some macho ‘hot older woman’ sex thing.

“I sneak out to go spend time with my friend because she’s four years older than me, and my mom thinks it’s weird.” Geralt wiggles his toes a little, watching the gleam of the polish, and his eyebrows furrow together.

“It is kinda weird.”

“It is. Yes, I know. But we’re just friends. She doesn’t have a lot of those. Neither do I, really.” Nobody real or worth the effort at least. Jaskier has plenty of friends, but they don’t call on friday nights and Jaskier doesn’t call them, either. Jaskier starts with the top coat. He mainly does it as an excuse to stay a little longer, but it really will help keep the polish there longer once he goes back to school and picks up soccer again.

“Just friends, right? Nothing weird.”

“Nothing untoward at all, my dear sweet brother.” It’s the first time Jaskier’s called him that. He thinks it’s funny, they really will be legally related sometime soon, but Geralt flinches. Jaskier notices it but doesn’t bring it up. He’s probably just still of the opinion that Jaskier will be gone in another two or three months time.

“I don’t sleep much. Usually just spend my nights reading and I’ve seen you climbing out the guest room’s window pretty regularly.” Jaskier pouts.

“Aw, boo. That’s not very exciting at all.” Geralt quirks his mouth into an almost smile. “I told you extra when you complained about mine.” Geralt just shrugs, the bastard, and looks smug about it, too.

“You chose to do that.”

“Lame. So, what, you’re just an insomniac?” Geralt nods, but Jaskier feels like there’s more there. He doesn’t press it. “Well, I only need about five hours of sleep so it’s not uncommon for me to be awake at odd hours. Just text me and see if I’m up. We could watch movies or something until you can fall asleep.” Jaskier moves onto his other foot, setting the wet one down on the bed carefully so as not to smudge it.

“Oh. Thanks. Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” Jaskier smiles and lifts up Geralt’s foot for him to better see it.

“You like? Pretty worth it, huh?” Geralt smirks and pulls his headphones back on, shaking his head. 

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day; winter._

It turns out their schedules are kind of fucked. If Jaskier had it his way Geralt would move right in and they’d see eachother everyday, but it’s beyond realistic. Even if it did happen, things between them would never be how they once were. 

He desperately wants it back to how it was.

As it is, though, they end up not being able to meet up again for another two weeks. Jaskier texts him, but he keeps to a very strict set of rules. If he sends two texts in a row that go unanswered he wont’ text again until the next day. He only sends one picture a day. He doesn’t send memes because Geralt never liked them in highschool and he doubts he’s had a change of heart since then. He feels pretty proud of himself, he’s not going to scare Geralt away again. After two years for the first offense he’s certain that if he does it again then Geralt will disappear forever.

“Hey! You have class tomorrow, right?” Jaskier opens up the fridge and picks up a half galleon jug of milk.

“Yeah.” Geralt sounds like he’s in his truck, his voice nearly drowned out by the opened windows. Jaskier makes double sure that the expiration date is the longest one they have available.

“Close the windows, will you? My ears are bleeding.” He puts the jug in his little arm basket and takes a few steps to where the eggs are. He was supposed to be here with Renfri and Yenn but he hasn’t seen them since he picked up the basket. Geralt doesn’t speak until he’s rolled the windows back up, thankfully.

“What’s up?” Jaskier’s popped open a carton and is wiggling the eggs to be sure none of them are cracked.

“We’re having brinner tonight, byob, and most people usually just stay over if you- oh, wait. Um, before I finish that thought I think I have to warn you of something.” Jaskier closes the carton and puts it in his basket, biting at his bottom lip nervously. Geralt says nothing, waiting, so Jaskier just barrels ahead. “I’m still friends with Renfri?”

“Oh.” Geralt’s quiet for a while and anxiety blooms in his gut as he waits for whatever Geralt’s about to say. He’s in front of the cheeses and he’s struggling to read the different labels, touching them like that’ll help him figure out what he’s looking at. “Uh, are you two-?”

“Oh, no, no no no no. No. Just friends. She’s very much sworn off cock.” Geralt chuckles and Jaskier finds the cheese he was looking for.

“You can just say lesbian.”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in it? So,” Jaskier’s making his way down the dairy aisle, looking around to be sure he doesn’t miss anything he needs, “you’ll come? You don’t mind having to hang out with her or anything?”

“As long as she doesn’t mind, I don’t mind.” Jaskier beams, bouncing on his heels and picks up a container of sour cream. Should he buy sour cream? Does he need it?

“Wonderful! Show up anytime after five, the door will be open. I’m making mimosas and bloody mary’s but it’s not your thing bring your own. Oh, and text me when you’re almost here, okay?”

“Okay.” And that’s that, Geralt hangs up. That man really needs to work on his goodbyes, but he’s agreed to come so Jaskier isn’t too bothered. He puts the sour cream in his basket, why the fuck not, and then pulls up Lambert’s number. He remembers Renfri’s comment about Yenn flirting with Geralt so he thinks it might be good to have someone around to distract her. Jaskier doesn’t spend too much time examining that thought. Plus he and Renfri seemed to really hit it off when they all got together last.

He does eventually find the girls in the snack aisle, both of their baskets filled with horrible, sugary, salty nonsense and a lot of booze. “Perfect, I just need potatoes and then we can go if you guys are done? Also I’ve invited Geralt and Lambert.”

—————————————————

_from: Lambert, teusday 15:23_

Not tonight but hit me up next timeI’m a slut for breakfast food

_from: Lambert, teusday 15:26_

nudes?

_to: Lambert, teusday 16:03_

show me yours & ill show you mine ;)

—————————————————

They’re watching _Krull_. Geralt’s never seen Krull which is insane to him because he’s seen Krull a million times in Yenn’s teeny tiny apartment before he’d moved in. He knows almost every line by now. It’s wild to him that he’d never gotten around to showing it to Geralt before. By now they’re all either buzzed or already drunk.

Triss, the poor lightweight she is, is giggling at almost every scene, absolutely losing it over how painfully 80’s it all is. Renfri is still pouring shots and handing them out despite how much everyone is saying they don’t want them. Everyone except for Yenn, because she’s never seen a shot she didn’t like. And because Yenn’s taking her shot, Jaskier’s taking his, because seeing Yenn take shots makes Jaskier want to take shots. And because of Renfri, Yenn, and Jaskier all taking their shots, Triss ends up taking hers, too.

Geralt’s the only one who says he doesn’t want the next round and actually doesn’t drink it when it’s handed to him.

Jaskier, for the most part, has been avoiding looking at Yenn and Geralt as much as he can. They’re cuddled up together, making eyes at achother. He leans over to whisper in her ear and she smiles, wide and heated. Usually Jaskier loves seeing this, the flirting and the teasing, especially when it’s Yenn, but right now it’s making him uncomfortable. Thankfully he’s sitting on the floor, leaned against the couch, so it’s not too obvious that he’s avoiding looking at them.

“Why is the Princess’s voice so weird?” Geralt asks the room, vaguely gesturing his beer around.

“The producers decided they wanted her to have a royal sounding accent after they wrapped.” Jaskier provides, picking up one of the empty shot glasses and holding it out to Renfri for her to fill it up. She waggles her eyebrows at him with a shit eating grin and pours out two.

“Why?” He doesn’t slur is words but Jaskier knows that he’s drunk. Or, at least, he thinks he is. He was just as much of a lightweight as Triss is back in highschool and Jaskier’s not sure if that’s something that changes over time. He doesn’t think it is. Yenn, however, hasn’t spoken in a hot minute.

“Who the fuck knows. It’s producers. They’re all morons.” There she is. She is slurring, but she’s still willing to speak so she’s not so far gone as she usually would be by now. Jaskier clinks his shotglass onto the table and throws it back in time with Renfri and it sends a wave of heat and violent nausea shooting through his gut.

Geralt laughs, low and easy, and Jaskier can’t bring himself to look away from how beautiful it is to see. His cheeks are bright pink from the alcohol and his roots are that familiar reddish brown and Jaskier can feel his heartbeat in his fingers. He watches Geralt rest his hand down on her thigh and Yenn starts running her fingers through his hair and Jaskier looks back to the film, glaring. Renfri wordlessly pours out another round.

“Pour me one, too, Renfri.” Yenn says.

“And me!” Triss.

“Don’t you have class in the morning?” Geralt asks Yenn, and Jaskier can’t help but turn to watch how Yenn takes that. Cutting Yenn off is always a nightmare, usually ending with her in a horrid, bitchy fucking mood because she’s always been touchy about people trying to control her. As much as it’s a shit thing to do Jaskier kind of wants to see this blow up in his face.

“So?” She asks, sarcastic and sneering.

“So morning-you will be glad now-you stopped.” Geralt’s watching the movie, pointedly ignoring her glare, and to everyone’s shock Yenn’s shoulders slump and she shrugs.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jaskier does a really good job of hiding his shock but Renfri isn’t so inclined.

“Holy fuck, he’s a Yenn-whisperer.” Geralt smirks and Yenn flips her off and Jaskier takes both his and Yenn’s shots in quick succession.

He’s fucking jealous.

Jaskier watches the rest of the movie, slumped back between Geralt and Triss’s legs, drunk and wishing he were drunker. He’s never been jealous before. It makes sense that the first time he has to experience it, it’s because of Geralt. So many of his firsts have been attached to Geralt. First love, first heartbreak, first cheating experience, and now this, too.

It’s not a great feeling. In fact, he hates it. It makes him feel like an asshole. He has no claim over Yenn, she’s a free woman who has fought tooth and nail for that freedom and he has never once wanted to restrict her before. And Geralt has made it very clear that he doesn’t want Jaskier in that way. Jaskier has no claim over him at all, either.

Renfri, for once in her life, notices that he’s in a piss poor mood and keeps it to herself.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged sixteen; fall_

“You’re not nearly as good at hiding your weird little crush as you think you are.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and runs his nails down Eskel’s stomach a little too hard in retaliation. Eskel just sighs into his neck, shivering and rutting against his leg and Jaskier smirks. That’s an interesting and unexpected response.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the asshole trying to choke myself on my es’s brother’s cock because I’m so fucked up over being dumped after, like, _a week_ of dating him, so, you know. We’re both fucking pathetic here.” Eskel pulls back to sneer at him but when Jaskier doesn’t back down or apologize he drops to his knees.

“ _Step_ -brothers. Don’t make this any weirder than it is.” Eskel’s got his button popped open in a second and it takes no time at all for him to pull out his half hard cock, licking his lips. It’s a fucking gorgeous sight. How did Geralt give up on this already? Jaskier runs his fingers through Eskel’s hair, coarse and thick and releases the sweet orange scent of his shampoo.

“Please, you’re getting off on the whole brother thing even more than I am you kinky fucking weirdo.” Eskel sucks his cock into his mouth, using his mouth to get him to full hardness, and glares up at him from underneath his eyelashes. Jaskier can see him palming his own cock, though, and he smirks, scratching his nails lightly down his scalp. Eskel’s eyes flutter closed and he groans around his cock. Jaskier sighs, thunking his head back into the wall, smirking.

“Oh, my gods, you totally fucking are. I’ve so got your number, Eskel.” Jaskier looks down at him and experimentally bucks his hips, fucking into Eskel’s mouth, and he moans again, glancing up at him once more. “You like that? Want me to fuck your mouth?” Eskel drops his hand from Jaskier’s hip, giving up all control, and pulls his own cock out. Jaskier can see that he’s painfully hard and already drooling precome. The sight of it all makes his cock twitch in Eskel’s mouth. “Fuck, Eskel, you’re a fucking dream. Are you gonna imagine him while I fuck your mouth?” Jaskier keeps his hold on Eskel’s head steady and fucks his hips into his mouth.

Every dumb thing that slips through his lips seems to make Eskel moan around his cock. Jaskier’s always been a talker but this is the first time he’s been with someone who actually seems to enjoy it and it makes him harder to know just how fucking into this Eskel is. He’s panting, mumbling the filthiest bullshit he can come up with about him and Geralt, taking him from both ends, using him as a buffer. Every single word has Eskel’s hand moving quicker on his own cock and the dual sight of Eskel letting him fuck his mouth and Eskel seriously getting off on it at the same time has Jaskier’s orgasm coming way too soon.

“Can I come in your mouth?” Eskel releases his own cock to grab Jaskier’s asscheeks and Jaskier stops moving, expecting him to pull away but Eskel goes in the opposite direction, taking Jaskier’s cock into his throat. It feels fucking incredible and makes Jaskier come instantly. Eskel keeps him in his throat until he can’t any longer, actually choking himself on his cock. Jaskier is dumbfounded, running his fingers through his hair, mouth hanging open, desperately trying to breathe.

“Holy fuck, Eskel, that’s so _fucking_ _hot_.” When Eskel pulls off he stands up and tucks him back into his pants. “Here, let me.” Jaskier sinks to his own knees but Eskel puts his hand on Jasier’s head and keeps him from moving forward. He’s staring right at his deep red cock, precome pouring out of him and Eskel won’t let him return the favor? It feels like torture.

“Open your mouth, don’t swallow.” Jaskier smirks, glancing up at him with a mischievous glint in his eye and does what he’s been asked of. Eskel keeps a tight hold on his hair, and _oh_ he likes that, and jerks himself off, cock smacking onto his tongue every downstroke. He can taste the sharp, bitter flavor of his come and he moans, desperate to take his cock in his mouth. Eskel comes with a low, bitten back moan. A few ropes of his come land on his face, but most of it sits on his tongue and Jaskier doesn’t move to swallow despite how much he suddenly, deeply wants to. He does his best to make for a beautiful picture, certain that this is what Eskel wanted, and it’s actually really doing it for him. He likes this, being on display a little, he kind of wants a photo of himself, just for himself, to keep.

Eskel sinks to his knees and cradles his face, staring at his own come on Jaskier’s face. It makes Jaskier’s face burn, makes his cock feel heavy. His skin feels feverish and he really wants to ask Eskel to take a picture, he fucking loves this. Was this what Geralt was like? Was this why Geralt broke up with him? Eskel was just too filthy and weird? Is he weird?

Jaskier doesn’t get to fall down that particular depressing rabbit hole because Eskel licks his tongue over Jaskier’s face, sucking up his own come. Jaskier gasps, letting out a low, keening whine. Fuck, he’s watched some porn but he didn’t know people did _this_. Is he supposed to like this? Is he supposed to like this _this much_? Eskel doesn’t seem bothered at all, just smiling and licking away, and Jaskier just gets harder and harder. Not swallowing is fucking impossible. He keeps his mouth open, tongue sticking out, so keep himself from swallowing. When Eskel licks at his tongue next Jaskier looses his all of his thin restraint.

Jaskier pushes into Eskel, knocking him back on his haunches and grabbing Eskel’s face with both hands to turn this into a proper kiss, to keep kissing him, to chase the taste of their come mixing on Eskel’s tongue. It’s incredible. It’s the filthiest thing he’s ever done, he’s ever even _seen_. Eskel licks at his lips, sucks on his tongue, just really making sure he gets every fucking drop.

“Holy fuck, you’re incredible.” Eskel huffs out a laugh and tilts his chin down and away, panting hard, their foreheads resting against eachother’s. “You have got to let me do this again.”

“You really have a mouth on you, Jaskier.” Jaskier smirks, moving his head to lick up his neck, pulling another deep chuckle out of Eskel. He feels heady with lust and delirious with his orgasm.

“It’s fun, isn’t it? Admit it, you love my filthy mouth.” Eskel shuts him up with another kiss, and he really does seem amenable to another round.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day; still winter, nearing spring_

_from: Geralt, teuday 13:45_

Do you still need to be reminded to eat?

_to: Geralt, teuday 13:45_

i do! and you did! send it again in twenty minutes?

_from: Geralt, teuday 14:00_

Does Yenn not remind you?

_to: Geralt, teuday 14:02_

oh shes even worse than i am!

_from: Geralt, teuday 14:12_

[a picture of a half drunk bottle of water and a half eaten granola, held in one hand, in front of a chain link fence. A few wolf-dogs panting and sleeping in the dappled sunlight can be seen in the background]

_to: Geralt, teuday 14:38_

[a picture of Jaskier holding up a BLT with one bite taken out of it, clearly still chewing. Yennnefer is in the background, eating her own BLT. They’re both studying at the kitchen table, papers and books scattered around them]

—————————————————

“Hey, hey Triss.” Jaskier stumbles over a few sets of legs in order to grab the open seat next to Triss. He’s got two cups of coffee in his hand that he’s trying very hard not to dump in someone’s lap but he is tempted by the man who makes no attempt to move out of Jaskier’s way when he walks past him.

“Stop.” Triss holds her hand up, looking very stern, and Jaskier stops dead inn his tracks. He’s got one leg on either side of this man’s legs, basically straddling him, and he’s not embarrassed by it but he is worried that if he starts making a fuss about it then he really will drop a coffee on his lap.

“What?” Triss tilts her head down so she can properly glower at him, stern as ever, and he already feels caught.

“I’m paying for this class and we agreed that you do not sit next to me during this class because you talk too much. And again, I’m spending money to pay attention to her.” Jaskier puts on his most innocent expression as the man between his legs starts to fidget, glancing back and forth between them.

“Dude, can you move?” Jaskier spares him a moment of annoyance.

“No, shush. C’mon, Triss darling, I promise to keep it hush hush today.” She doesn’t believe him for one moment, but her eyes dart to the coffee in his hand and he knows he has her. He pulls it closer to his chest, out of her reach, and shakes it around a little to show the layers of the drink mixing around.

“Orange blossom latte, extra shot. Just how you like it.” Triss’s expression sours, but he can see the defeat for what it is.

“Dude, seriously. This is super weird.” Jaskier doesn’t even both to look at him so he turns to entreat upon Triss’s good grace on Jaskier’s behalf. “Hey, can you just agree so he’ll get off of me? Please?” Triss rolls her eyes and sits back in her chair and Jaskier beams, finally completing his small feat of acrobatics to plop down into the open seat next to her.

“So, I do have a question, actually.” Jaskier hands over her latte and Triss swirls the layers together. He can see her resigning herself to this moment, there’s no getting him to shut up now, and she checks her watch.

“You have until she starts speaking to get the answers you want.” Jaskier sighs in relief and leans closer to her on his forearm, dropping his voice some.

“Okay, so Yenn and Geralt? How long have they been they flirting?” Triss takes a long, slow sip of her coffee, looking like the most innocent thing in the world.

“I guess since they met.” Jaskier frowns at her, trying to judge her into giving him a better answer than that, but again. Most innocent thing in the world. He always forgets how good a fucking liar she is when she wants to be.

“Okay, but has it been, like,” he hesitates, blushing some. He wouldn’t be asking her this if he couldn’t completely trust her to keep it to herself but he realizes, even as he’s asking her this, that that very fact is going to be working against him. “Romantic? The whole time?” Triss’s expression turns to something of fondness, but he knows it’s just pity. Pity that she’s doing a great job of hiding, but pity nonetheless.

“You should really be talking to Yenn about this.” It’s right then that the professor starts talking, fucking of course, and Triss shifts around to focus on her. Jaskier’s backpack is still on the floor, unopened, and he hunches over his little pull out desk to right that. He should really pull the desk back but he’s clumsy and more focused on trying to pull an answer out of Triss to bother with it.

He manages to keep his mouth shut for all of about seven minutes. He leans over, close enough for their shoulders to touch. “Okay, but, please tell me.” Triss doesn’t even look at him. He sits back up and tries very hard to actually pay attention to this class.

“Should I be worried? Like, are they dating? You should tell me if they’re dating.”

“Jaskier.” She uses her terrifying ‘angry-mom’ voice and Jaskier pinches his mouth closed, keeps his eyes on the board, and even writes some notes, too.

“Are they fucking dating?” Triss thunks her coffee onto his desk without turning to look at him and Jaskier slumps into his chair, defeated. He gingerly picks her coffee back up and places it on her desk as an apology. He knew she wouldn’t tell him anyway because she’s very sober and Triss only runs her mouth when she’s pissdrunk. Even then, though, she’s pretty good at keeping her mouth shut.

She drinks the coffee and he does a pretty good job of actually paying attention to the class. He knows, he just fucking knows, that they’re dating. Like, real dating. Like, two people who actually might be together, dating. Real dating. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. This can only end in one of two ways.

They’re either going to fuck, and then stop fucking, which will end with him being caught between two people who are either actively hostile towards eachother or awkward. Or, they’re going to date, and then stop dating, which will end in heartbreak and probably having to choose between one or the other.

He supposes they could date, and keep dating, which will end in marriage and babies and white picket fences. But that’s not what Yenn wants, and he doesn’t know what Geralt wants because he’s never really talked about it. To Jaskier’s knowledge, Geralt’s already got everything he already wants. Thinking about this option makes him want to cry so he stops.

He talks horrible notes. He’ll probably just have to ask Triss for her’s. He tunes in and out, chews on his straw, and scribbles on the margins of his notebook. He’s genuinely trying to pay attention but he’s struggling with his jealousy, his anxiety, and his shame for feeling the first two emotions. He doesn’t want to be a jealous bastard, he wasn’t jealous when Geralt was running around in highschool. Well, then, he also wasn’t gone for two years in highschool.

“Jaskier.” He jumps a little, realizing that class is over and Triss is staring at him.

“Ah, cock. Can I borrow your notes?” Triss nods smugly and promises to get him copies by tomorrow.

“You ok? I’ve never really seen you like this with Yenn before.” She’s packing up her bag so Jaskier figures he probably should, too. He’s got another class but not for another hour. Could probably go to the library, fuck around, pretend to study. Or maybe he’ll make good on his Meg Ryan plans.

“She’s never tried to fuck a family member of mine before.” He says, grumpily, because admitting to anyone -even Triss- that he’s hung up over Geralt. It’s not something he’s exactly proud of, not to mention that he’s trying his damnedest to _not_ be hung up over him anymore. Maybe this is a good thing? He loves Yenn with his whole heart, if she has to be with someone who isn’t him at least it’s someone who’ll keep her in his life?

No, that’s utter bullshit. He wants Geralt with his whole, greedy, jealous little gremlin of a heart. Even if that means that Yenn doesn’t get him because of that. He knows better than to admit to it aloud.

—————————————————

Geralt snatches the shot out of Yenn’s hand and takes it in one smooth motion, not even wincing the bastard. Yenn’s long since stopped speaking so she’s left with no other option but to glare at him as he pushes on the small of her back.

“Jask?” He doesn’t bother to turn around and make sure he’s still there, busy trying to keep Yenn from slipping away before they’ve managed to make it to the car. Jaskier chooses to believe that he’s not bothering to look back because he just trusts that he’ll be there.

“Yes?” He calls back, singsong.

“You still have Triss?” Jaskier looks down to his arm, head feeling very loose, and when he doesn’t see Triss’s beautiful dainty hands wrapped around him anymore he looks around the room, twirling on his heel.

“Huh.” Fuck. “Bathroom?” Geralt huffs, frowning and Jaskier laughs, walking towards the bathroom before Geralt can argue with him. Jaskier catches sight of her at the jukebox, drunkenly giggling with someone and trying to pick out a song.

“Triss, darling.” Jaskier wraps his arms around her waist and tucks his chin on her shoulder. “Geralt is taking us to Waffle House.” Triss gasps and then it’s not difficult at all to corral her into Geralt’s truck. Triss crawls over Yenn in order to hop into the back, stretching out like a lazy cat in the thin space. He’s not even sure that it can actually count as a backseat, legally. Jaskier sighs and hops up into truck, swinging the door shut, squeezed in between the door and Yenn’s feverish body. The drunker she gets the more she becomes a fucking furnace. It’s nice now but that’s just because it’s still cold outside. He can see the thin sheen of sweat on her skin, almost like glitter in the streetlights.

“Renfri?” Geralt’s got the truck idling, looking around to probably take a tally of the bodies he can see.

“R-u-n-n-o-f-t. She does that.” Geralt frowns as Jaskier says it but he pulls out onto the street without further delay. Jaskier throws his arm over the back of the seat and Yenn immediately curls into his side, pressing her cold nose into his neck. How can her body be so hot that it’s got him sweating everywhere they’re touching but her nose be this fucking cold?

There’s a reason why he’s not supposed to kiss her. He usually does, though. He usually kisses her all the time. But there’s a reason, some tickling anxiety at the back of his head that keeps him from doing it.

He can’t help but smirk when he sees her indignant pout when he doesn’t take the usual bait to kiss her. He gasps when she sinks her teeth into his neck, retaliatory and a harsh, sending a shiver of pleasure through his body, pulling out a soft moan. He thunks his head back onto the chair, baring as much of his neck for her that he can, moving his hand to cradle her head. She bites again, lighter now because she’s smirking, and Jaskier can hear Triss’s drunken giggling at the second low moan that’s pulled out of him. He can feel her hand on his thigh, pushing down on him for the needed leverage, and he feels a quick surge of that reluctant anxiety stab through his chest.

It’s enough to make him sit up properly, knocking his neck free from Yenn’s warm tongue lavishing the indentations she’d left behind. He’s always easily bruised and she’s made it very clear how much she likes that about his body. Yenn humphs back into her seat, settling for nothing more than a drunken cuddle now, and Jaskier glances over to Geralt. He’s driving and he looks gorgeous in the glow of the lights of the city.

That’s why he shouldn’t kiss Yenn. Geralt’s flirting with Yenn. Has been for a while. He caught them kissing earlier tonight, actually, and Jaskier’s made the mistake of chasing after Geralt’s partners far too often in the past to keep fucking doing it. Geralt glances over to him, eyebrow raised, glancing down to Yenn for a second and then back to the road. He feels that sickening, surge of jealousy, petulant and bitter. Yenn was his friend first, dammit, if anyone should feel like the interloper here it should be fucking Geralt.

Still, Jaskier turns back to stare ahead with his arm flung over Yenn’s shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing against the swell of her breast, and feels like a huge asshole anyways. He can already see the Waffle House sign, glowing in the distance, and he hopes the meal won’t be this awkward the whole time.

“Why isn’t she speaking?” Geralt asks, pointing his chin at Yenn, and Jaskier smirks. Triss’s head pops up, chin resting on the back of the seats, smiling gleefully.

“She’s sloshed.” Triss giggled, her nose scrunching up. She has to speak slowly to make her words intelligible because her words are so slurred. Jaskier chuckles at her and catches Geralt’s own smile. Yenn holds up her hand to flip off the whole car without deigning to answer and then they’re pulling into the parking lot and Jaskier’s struck with inspiration.

“Yenn,” Jaskier closes the door of the truck behind her and hops on his feet, “show Geralt the thing.” One of Yenn’s eyebrows jumps up to her hairline and her posture straightens, haughty and confident, and her lips tug into a small smile. Geralt crosses his arms and leans against his truck, openly interested, and Triss claps beside him.

“Do it! Do this thing!” Triss encourages her, literally bouncing with excitement and Jaskier watches Geralt watch Yenn. She walks in a straight line, no drunken tripping or leaning in sight, and touches her fingers to her nose, back and forth. Geralt’s laughing, shaking his head in mild disbelief as he watches Yenn totally ace the simple sobriety test that cops administer when they pull someone over.

“And when they ask her to recite the alaphabet backwards?” He asks Jaskier, eyes glimmering with mirth, and Jaskier’s breath catches.

“Oh, that’s the best part!” Triss says, almost doubled over laughing. Jaskier loves drunk Triss, she’s happier than a child on christmas day. Yenn is actively working to hold back her own laughter, biting on her lip, and she raises up her hand to show off her mastery of ASL. She’s even signing the alphabet backwards. Geralt pushes himself off the truck, shaking his head and grinning like a mad man.

“Please don’t tell me she’s actually had to do this before.” Jaskier laughs, hand over his heart, and they all follow him inside.

“I promise not to tell you.” 

—————————————————

When they all manage to get inside the apartment, stinking of bacon grease and bellies painfully full, Jaskier’s half carrying a half dozing Triss. Yenn walks ahead of them, making a beeline for the kitchen, pouring out a glass of water in her usual silent manner. She won’t speak again until morning no matter how much she sobers up.

“You want Triss with you tonight, darling?” Jaskier asks Yenn as she comes back into the room with the glass of water, picking up the advil on her way. She silently wraps an arm around Triss’s waist and before Jaskier can stop her she leans against Triss, squishing her lightly between their two bodies, and kisses him. Triss lets out an undignified huff, annoyed at being caught inbetween their antics. Jaskier, massive slut that he is, sighs into her kiss and deepens it immediately.

Kissing Yenn with a sleepy-drunk Triss squished between them would be normal enough, but with Geralt watching from mere feet away it’s thrilling and terrifying now, too. Still, it’s Yenn and Jaskier’s never been able to resist kissing Yenn, no matter how filthy or public. She pulls away with his bottom lip still caught between her teeth and Jaskier lets out a low whine. It shoots down straight to his cock, thick in his pants, and then Yenn releases him with a wink. Triss pats her hand on his cheek with a sleepy giggle as Yenn pulls her away to her room.

Jaskier can feel Geralt’s presence in the room like a furnace against his back. His throat closes up, anxiety overtaking him, and he turns around to face Geralt’s stare.

“Uh, you could stay? I know it’s a long drive back to your own place.” Geralt shakes his head, uncrossing his arms and turns to face the door. It feels like he’s running away, like he’s angry and leaving all over again.

“No, I should-” Jaskier grabs a hold of Geralt’s arm with both hands, tears prickling his eyes. It clearly surprises Geralt, enough to make him stop talking, and Jaskier tries to think of the words that will make him stay. If he weren’t so drunk and exhausted then he probably wouldn’t be on the verge of freaking out. He shouldn’t have taken those extra shots with Renfri before she disappeared. He’d watched Yenn and Geralt kiss and it didn’t look like a first kiss. It was a familiar and easy kiss. Seeing it twisted his gut into a thousand knots. Still, Yenn and Geralt aren’t dating. He would know by now if they were. And Yenn has never once been monogamous in her life.

If he weren’t so fucking drunk he’d be able to listen to that side of his brain and actually hear it. As it is, he’s plastered, and seeing Geralt’s unreadable expression, hand on the door knob, refusing to stay, refusing to really even look at him, it spiked that same old fear in him. Maybe he’d been wrong to ask to skip that conversation.

Geralt’s looking at him, watching tears filling his eyes. He’s still got a hand on the door knob but he isn’t throwing Jaskier off of him to leave. Not yet at least.

“ _Please_.” He whispers, eyes wide, hands shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Please don’t disappear on me again.” Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head against the knob of Geralt’s shoulder. It’s boney despite his mass, but Jaskier can’t bring himself to let go of him yet.

“Please, Geralt, please.”

—————————————————

“No coffee?” Jaskier can hear Yenn’s pout as she sniffs the air dramatically, bare feet slapping on the floor. Jaskier sniffs, blinking rapidly, and rubs at his eyes. He hasn’t cried yet, but his lashes caught some of the tears, and it’s all too easy to stuff his need to cry back down. He doesn’t want Yenn to see this because he doesn’t want to talk about it, so he folds the paper up into a tight square and tucks it into the front pocket of his shirt.

“You make it. I pamper the lot of you constantly.” He wonders, idly, if Renfri is tucked away in the apartment somewhere.

“Yeah, okay. Did Geralt end up staying the night?” Jaskier listens to her move around the kitchen, head tilted back onto the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling. He thinks he can still feel the warmth of Geralt’s body in the cushions, but he knows logically that can’t be true. Maybe if he buries his face in the pillow he’ll be able to smell him?

Is that weird?

“Yeah, but I think he had work this morning so he’s probably been gone for a while.”

“Looks like he did the dishes.” Jaskier turns around, incredulous, but she’s right. The dishes have been done.

“What a fuckin’ goob.” Yenn chuckles, pushing the coffee pot back into the coffee machine and it starts gurgling immediately. “You think Renfri’s here?” Yen just shrugs and Jaskier rests his chin on the couch. He could go looking around, but she’ll show up sooner or later if she is here. Especially if she smells the coffee. Jaskier just settles for watching Yenn putter about, dressed in thin, soft looking lingerie. The stuff that looks like it’s silk but obviously isn’t, with a delicate looking lace along the top hem.

“Cereal for breakfast? I’m not making eggs.” She reaches up on tip toes to grab at the cereals on top of the fridge.

“Aw, boo. I make amazing breakfasts for you all the time, it’s your turn.” Yenn huffs, pushing the cereal back onto the fridge. She’s got her hands on her hips and she’s just looking around the kitchen, looking a little grumpy, a little hung over, a little mystified.

It hits Jaskier the way staring at her in these moments of quiet domesticity always hit him. Slowly, like molten lava pouring down his head, running in scorching hot rivulets down his body. He loves her. He’ll probably always love her. Maybe he has always loved her.

She sighs, clearly rolling her eyes, and starts puttering about again, pilling out a collection of ingredients and a big ole’ bowl. Jaskier watches her do this, too, and it occurs to him what she’s making.

“Oh, pancakes?” He feels like a little kid, smiling huge. “We have strawberries! I think. If Renfri or Geralt didn’t get to them first.”

“I didn’t see any strawberries.” Jaskier pouts, hard. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to eat one strawberry. He’s going to move that fucking key today.

“Where’s your phone? I’m calling Renfri and demanding that she go get us strawberries.” Yenn lifts up the hem of her shirt and pulls her phone out of the waist of her little shorts, walking over to hand it to him. It’s warm from her body heat and he can see a flash of the phone’s indent on her skin before the shirt falls back down.

“Where’s your own damn phone?” Jaskier unlocks her phone, she’s probably going to change it now that she knows he knows her current code, and pulls up Renfri’s number.

“Who knows, Yenn. I don’t think I’ve seen it for a while now that you mention it.” He’s not really bothered by it, Geralt rarely texts or calls, and Triss and Renfri both know by now that if they want to get to him quickly they’ll have to call Yenn. So the only people who are texting or calling him aren’t really people he cares to get back to immediately.

Renfri doesn’t answer so he calls again. He’s so used to her being here that he half expected to hear her ringtone when he got the first ring but he hadn’t. Her not being here means it’s more likely that she’ll go to the store and replace his strawberries for him, though, so he’s pretty happy about it. Triss walks in right when the coffee’s done brewing, this time dressed in Yenn’s clothes. An intentionally baggy sweater and another pair of silky shorts, this time in white. The creamy fabric looks brilliant against her skin color.

“Oh, will you make me a cup since you’re up already?” Triss waves over at him but she pulls down a second mug anyway. “Renfri?” He asks into the phone and Renfri just grumbles on the other side. He wonders where she is, if she has her own dorm room or if she just sleeps under an overpass or something when she’s not here.

“Hey, Renfri, you ate my fucking strawberries.” He watches Yenn curse quietly when she cracks an egg into the bowl and enlist Triss’s help in getting the egg shell out of the batter she’s trying to make.

“Yeah? What of it?” She sounds like she’s still asleep but he can hear water running in the background. Is she talking on her phone in the shower?

“Yenn’s making pancakes and I bought strawberries that you ate so now I can’t have them on my pancakes.” He can hear her brushing her teeth now so he waits until he hears her spit as patiently as he can. He feels less melancholy now as the morning keeps going along. Triss hands him his coffee, Yenn asks him where he keeps the measuring cups, Renfri’s on the phone. It feels like any regular day and despite the folded up paper in his pocket he hopes that he can have many more mornings like this. Easy, relaxed, full of sound and people and pleasant scents.

“So you want me to bring you some fucking strawberries?”

“Uh, duh.” Renfri grumbles some more, shutting the water off. He has to pull the phone away from his ear a little because he can hear her moving and shaking around and he doesn’t want that right in his fucking ear.

“So is she bringing strawberries?” Yenn asks. Triss opens up the fridge and stares into it, squatting down.

“What goes with pancakes?”

“Eggs.” Jaskier says but Yenn just scowls.

“I’m not making fucking eggs.”

“I could make the eggs.” Triss pulls the carton of them back out.

“Fine, I’ll bring you some fucking strawberries but I’m sticking around for pancakes.” Jaskier’s able to blow two kisses into the phone before Renfri hangs up on him.

“She’s bringing strawberries!” Triss does a little dance, excited, as she pulls down another skillet.

He wishes Geralt could have stayed for the morning. It would have been nice to curl against him, coffee cuddled up to his chest, breathing in the scent and the heat of it, and watch the girls puttering about together. Of course, he’s more than happy to keep these moments to himself for a little longer, too.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged seventeen; spring_

Jaskier’s high as a kite.

He’s laying on the floor in Yenn’s teeny tiny apartment, on the rug in the living room, an ugly baby pink and shag. It’s truly atrocious which is exactly why he bought it. Yenn sneered at him when he tossed it into her backseat but it’s still here days later so she must have at least needed it.

They’re watching _Watership Down_. Jaskier hasn’t quite been able to track the plot this time but he’s seen this movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. He’s busy watching Yenn.

When did his love change? Did it change? He isn’t sure. There’s so may movies about friends who fall in love and he’s been watching them one after the other lately, trying to figure it out. His particular favorite has been _When Harry Met Sally_ but it took them twelve years to get their shit together and Jaskier doesn’t want that for himself. But it did do a pretty god job of showing how friends could end up falling in love.

It also has their friendship falling apart after they have sex. Maybe that’s not his favorite pick for this situation actually.

Yenn gasps, eyes wide, and Jaskier looks back to the tv to see where they are in the movie. It’s the part where all the rabbits are being gassed while trying to escape their hovel. It’s a really beautiful scene, very fucking horrifying, and Jaskier laughs.

“Oh, shit, you haven’t seen this movie before.” He turns back to look at Yenn and she’s glaring at him, wide eyed, looking back and forth between Jaskier’s face and the movie.

“You did not tell me this was a fucking nightmare movie.” Jaskier laughs again, feeling like his whole body is floating.

“It’s a good movie! I always forget about how scary it can be.”

“I’m so never letting you pick again.” She’s smiling but her eyes are still wide, still glued to the screen. The sunlight spilling over them makes her look like she’s glowing and Jaskier sits up on his side to better look at her. She’s beautiful. She’s always been beautiful, but it’s different now. She’s beautiful in a way that he wants to touch.

He doesn’t see bruises on her anymore. Hasn’t for the past two years, since she moved out of her dad’s house. There was a time when he’d daydreamed of kissing those bruises away but he’d never once dared to even try. He’s never been under any false impressions about who Yennnefer is. If he’d so much as hinted at his desire to care for her she would have tossed him out of her life and blocked his number. Yenn was not one to be pitied and she’s never seen a kind act as anything more than just that.

Now though. Now it’s different. Isn’t it?

That last year she was stuck in her father’s house she didn’t hide her bruises the way she’d used to. She waits to put her makeup on until they’re in the car together. She hugs him. She doesn’t wince when she says friend. Five years they’ve known eachother and she’s so gentle with him sometimes. Kind in a way he’s seen her so much as hint at to anyone else.

That means something doesn’t it?

She does a quick sit up, reaching out for the joint that’s sitting on the table and the lighter next to it. She flops back onto the pillow angled under her head with a huff and a smile, wrapping her lips around the butt of it and lighting it up. She doesn’t cough at all, she smokes it as easily as she does her dumb fucking cigarettes. He watches her pull in a few deep breaths amusedly, before finally getting impatient enough to snatch it away from her to take his own hit.

“What’re you staring at me for you fuckin’ weirdo.” She says, giggling with smoke swirling out of her mouth and her nose. It’s cute and funny and Jaskier lets the smoke huff out of his mouth with his slow chuckling. He’s been trying to learn how to make smoke rings lately.

He’s wanted to kiss her for a long time, but he didn’t realize that’s what it was until the last time he’d kissed someone. Renfri, at that stupid party, months ago. She kissed him and thought of someone else and he’d done the same and for once it wasn’t Geralt.

Yenn wasn’t Geralt. Yenn was someone he could have. Who wanted him around, who liked him. Someone everyone already half expected him to be with anyways.

He kisses her.

She pushes him away, hard enough that it hurts when he lands on his back, gasping in surprise.

“What the fuck Jaskier?” She yells, sitting up and rubbing at her mouth. There’s anger there, real anger. He realizes that he’s never seen her angry before. He thought he had, but clearly, he hadn’t. When she looks at him his stomach turns to ice and his throat closes up. He’d wanted to kiss her but now he can see it not only for the mistake it was but also for the shit attempt to use her for something, too.

“Yenn,” he starts, but she cuts him off, snarling.

“Oh, what, been waiting five fucking years to do that, huh?” Her tone is bitter and cruel, and she’s twisting it so their whole friendship has been nothing but him chasing after her cunt. He sneers, rolling his eyes, falling into his own rage.

“Oh, fuck off, Yenn. It was a bloody fucking kiss, not proof that I’m just another meat headed _man_ trying to bury my cock in you.” It’s a horrible thing to say. It hurts her in the exact spot he knew it would and he hates himself the second he says it.

“Get out.” It’s an ice cold whisper. Hollow and empty and terrifying. Tears sting his eyes and Jaskier stares at her, pleading.

“Yenn. Yenn, please.”

“Get out!” She screams, curling in on herself, arms curling around her head. He can hear her gasping for air. His heart shatters. It’s not the first time his heart’s broken, but it feels like the first time it’ll stay that way.

“Yenn. I’m sorry, please.” Hot tears run down his face, unnoticed and flowing freely. He’s such an asshole. First he ruins things with Geralt and now this? Why? Because he wasn’t miserable enough? Because he wasn’t able to hate himself enough? “Please, Yenn, don’t do this.”

“Get out Jaskier. Just get the fuck out.” Her voice is back to that terrifying, low, empty nothingness. Jaskier stands up on shaking legs, blearily looking around for his backpack, his phone, his keys. Yenn doesn’t look up from where she’s curled in on herself, doesn’t speak to him at all. She looks so small, shaking and gasping. He can hear her quiet sobs. It’s terrifying to see someone he’s always seen as so strong, so beautiful, so composed, reduced to this. Even more so since he’s the one who did it.

He wants to explain himself. To apologize, grovel, plead, fucking beg. But he doesn’t. He just picks up his stuff and goes, closing the door behind him quietly.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day; still winter, almost spring_

Jaskier’s sitting in Geralt’s truck, a spread of horrible fast food on the seat between them, windows down. It’s noon and the sun is strong today so it actually feels wonderful. Spring is almost here and he can smell it in the air. Fresh dirt, early spring wildflowers, that crisp hint of chill in the air. He sucks down his soda and picks around the trash heap for the last corndog. Geralt’s driving around one handed for the most part, using his other hand to hold his burger. He’d skipped the one class he had today in order to do this and it’s the best idea he’s had since Geralt came back.

“Better be a damn good milkshake, Jask.” He says around a mouthful of food as he merges onto the highway.

“It’s just a twenty minute drive from where we already were.”

“Which means it’s a thirty five minute drive back to your campus and an extra twenty to mine.” Jaskier dunks his corndog into the empty soda cup they put in the cupholder and filled with all the ketchup, mustard, salt, and pepper they’d been given. It’s absolutely genius and makes total sense that someone who has to make an hour long drive to and from college three days a week would have come up with the best way to eat while driving.

“Well, they’re very worth it I promise you.” Geralt glances over to him, throughly unconvinced, but he’s still driving so Jaskier just smiles. They’d gone to three different fast food places and got an ungodly amount of food and they’re already mostly finished with it. He’ll help clean all this up before Geralt drops him off but for now he’s too busy trying to hold his soda and his corndog in one hand so he can take the last few bites of the chili cheese fries.

They drive mostly in silence. Geralt still doesn’t like to drive around with the radio on, a wild fucking experience, but Jaskier doesn’t mind. When it’s Geralt, he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence as much as he does with everyone else. Even with Yenn he’s filling the silence with bickering or humming or moaning.

“So, you and Yenn?” Geralt glances over at him again and Jaskier feels a thrum of anxiety. He slows his chewing on the corndog and tries to organize his thoughts.

That question can be easily interpreted in so many different ways these days. When they were kids it was Geralt trying to make sure he was being careful and safe. Yenn was so much older than them, at least it certainly felt like it at the time, and Geralt was the only one who was checking in regularly. Making sure that she wasn’t some creepy adult.

Now a days, though, it could be something entirely different. He remembers seeing the two of them kissing at the bar a last week, the steely gaze when he saw Yenn kiss him that same night. Triss’s rumor that the two of them have been flirting for quite some time now. He doesn’t like it. It twists his guts. He could lie. He could lay some type of dumb claim over her. Geralt would probably listen, probably back off, and Jaskier wouldn’t have to see the two people he loves most in the world leave him behind.

“What do you mean?” Geralt lets out a huff, shakes his head.

“She kissed you.” Jaskier shrugs, twirling his corndog in the condiment cup.

“We do that sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.” Geralt finishes his burger, crushing the paper into a ball in his hand and tossing it back into the seat. When he looks over at him Jaskier can see that he doesn’t believe him for a fucking second. Jaskier can’t really blame Geralt for feeling that way, it sounded like a lie to Jaskier, too. It felt like a lie on his tongue, and now that he’s said it, now that it’s in the air between them. It feels like a lie. It doesn’t mean nothing. Not _nothing_ nothing anyways.

That feels like a terrifying can of worms he doesn’t want to deal with so he just keeps his mouth shut and waits for Geralt to say something -anything- else.

“When did that start, Jaskier.” His eyebrows are curled together, making that cute little line of bunched up muscle in worry. And Jaskier smiles, stifling the desire to giggle. It’s the first option. Just the same old Geralt trying to make sure he was safe, that his friendship with Yenn didn’t fuck him up. It reminds him of the before times, easing that sickening new sensation of jealousy clawing away inside him. But only some.

“Oh, Geralt, stop your worrying. She refused to touch me until I was nineteen, and even then I had to practically beg her to ride my face.” Geralt’s shuffling through the trash pauses when he hears that, but he recovers quickly enough.

“Your choice, though, right?” Jaskier drops the stick into the trash and finally gives in to the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to clean this shit up. He starts balling things up and tossing them into the biggest bag he can find. It’s a good distraction for his hands.

“Yes, darling. My choice. She didn’t speak to me for a month straight the first time I tried to kiss her. She was always very aware of our age difference, and very careful for it.” Geralt unearths a burrito and uses his knee to keep the steering wheel from veering for the two seconds it takes him to unwrap it. When Jaskier says that he looks over at him, confused for a second before returning his attention back to the road.

“Was that what that fight about?”

“Ha! Yes, it was. I’m surprised you remember that.” Geralt’s eyebrows haven’t unfurled from their worried state just yet, frowning around his mouthful of burrito.

“Hard to forget, Jaskier. One of the few times you actually scared me.” Geralt spares him a second’s glance and his eyes betray the depth of that worry. That old fear. Jaskier’s mind goes reeling, shocked, and it takes a minute for him to straighten his thoughts out. He barely remembers that month to be honest. It was the only time he’d skipped enough class that his mother got a very serious phone call about it. He’d barely eaten, barely slept. He’d tossed out his poetry book and stopped writing after that. It wasn’t a good look on him.

It never occurred to him how serious Geralt had been when he said he was looking out for him. It sits on him a little to heavily now, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He cared enough to be scared when it was easy. He didn’t even think about him for two fucking years, left his number blocked. Broke a promise. 

Jaskier rests his forehead on the window and struggles to decide if he hates Geralt for this or loves him even more. This earnest care, contrasted with his easy dismissal. He feels like a beaten cat, desperate for a kind touch but incapable of trusting it when it’s finally offered.

“I’d lost the two most important people in my life. I was pretty scared, too.” They’re quiet for a long time after that little comment. Jaskier doesn’t know what response he was hoping for when he’d said it but he knows their current silence isn’t satisfying at all. When they pull onto the side-of-the-road, middle-of-nowhere ice cream shop Jaskier doesn’t even want it anymore. Geralt kills the engine and they both sit still for a moment, the silence stretching for forever between them.

“Jaskier.” He turns to look at Geralt, his heart fluttering, hopeful but he doesn’t know what for. Jaskier feels like the same love struck little kid he was around Geralt. Any casual touch, any passing praise, a moment of attention, it all made him feel big. Important. Worthy of something.

“I need you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it, I shouldn’t be asking you for it, but I need it.” Geralt looks up, resigned. Like he’s already accepted that Jaskier is going to abandon him to this pain. His heart aches at the sight of it. “I promised I wouldn’t disappear on you but I did anyway and I’m sorry.” Jaskier smiles, a broken, bitter little thing.

“You had good reason.”

“Please, Jaskier.” Geralt runs his hand through his hair, pushing the baby hairs down and away from his face, sighing. Jaskier wants so much. He wants Geralt, in his arms, in his bed, his, forever. He’s wanted him for centuries, it feels like, sometimes. Still, this kindness, this brotherhood. It’s something. It’s anything. It’s love and that’s enough. Any part of him, any area he can sink his claws into and never fucking let go, is enough, More than enough.

“Geralt,” Jaskier smiles, easy and so painfully in love with him, “I forgave you the second you said it.” It doesn’t feel like forgiveness, it feels like resignation, and Geralt seems to see it, too. Still, the milkshakes are really fucking good.

—————————————————

“Who the fuck are you texting?” They finally settled on Moulin Rouge after almost forty minutes of bickering about what movie they were going to watch tonight, Yenn scrolling through Netflix and Jaskier pulling movies off the top shelf. It’s half the reason why they still have movie night, they both just love running their mouths about movies. “You’re the one who wanted to watch this movie.” He says as petulantly as he can, pressing his foot into her side and jostling her.

“This was your pick, Jaskier.” She doesn’t even look up from her phone when she says it but Jaskier knows she fucking loves this movie despite all her blustering. He’s seen her bopping her head and mouthing all the words before.

“Only because you continue to flat out refuse to watch Twilight with me. I know you read the books, I saw them hidden in your closet.” Yenn glares at him for a second, shoving his feet off the couch in retaliation and Jaskier smirks.

“Why did they make that film so blue?” Jaskier plasters himself to her side, smiling and dropping his arm along her shoulders.

“Why did they make Taylor Lautner cut his hair for the sequels? Criticizing the film is half the fun of it, Yenn darling.” Jaskier glances down at her phone and his smile disappears. He just stares down, openly snooping now, reading what texts he can see.

Fucking. He knew this was happening. He’d already seen it coming, he’d even done what he could to not cock block either of them, too, but still. It’s painful to see it so blatantly.

“You guys are going on a date tomorrow?” Yenn smacks the back of her hand into his chest lightly, but doesn’t bother to try and hide her phone from his line of sight. Jaskier tenses, “gods, fucking rude, Yenn,” but doesn’t move his arm or try to retaliate. She’d earned that to be honest, he knows how much she hates it when he snoops on her phone. “Were you going to tell me?” Jealousy sours his tongue, churns his stomach, pisses him off. She says nothing.

“Really, Yenn?” He can feel her tense at his tone, pulling back to look at him properly. He doesn’t have to look at her to see the look on her face, he knows that she’s glaring at him. He can practically feel her anger fill the room like it’s own physical presence. He doesn’t care, doesn’t do anything to try and calm her back down. He wants her angry.

“What, Jaskier? Is there a problem?” Her voice is cold. Emotionless.

“No, Yenn, no fucking problem at all. You just keep on taking whatever you want, regardless of anyone else’s feelings. Whatever the fuck you want. It’s all fucking yours, isn’t it?” He knows as he’s saying it that he should not be saying it, he almost doesn’t even want to, but he can’t stop himself. He’s bitter and upset and hurt and a million other things.

Yenn shoves him off her and stands up, close to snarling. She’s beautiful like this, too. Terrifying, burning bright and alive. Jaskier almost wants her to kill him, wonders how much more he’ll have to push her to get her to hit him, to kick him out, to throw his shit out the windows, to scream. He’s never tried to push her that hard before. Never wanted to before.

Still doesn’t. He loves her. He hates that he’s done this at all the second he sees the fury in her eyes.

“Fuck you, Jaskier.” She storms down the hallway and slams the door shut behind her. Loud enough that it makes him jump. Guilt pours in immediately. He’s gotten to the point in the film where Nicole Kidman is singing that horribly boring song to Ewan McGregor that gets her caught out by that dumb mustache guy. It’s easily the worst part of the movie but Jaskier sits through it anyway, focusing on the lyrics and the terrible shot of her face instead of having to deal with any of the shit he just caused. He hates fighting with her. Hates how easy it is to hurt her, easier for him than anyone else.

He half watches the rest of the movie, hands curled into tight fists, jaw working. He needs to talk to her. He doesn’t want to talk to her. He needs to get over this old stupid crush. He doesn’t know how to. They’ve both, in their own ways, made it so painfully clear that they don’t want him.

It’s worse watching them both choose eachother.

In a flash of bitter desperation he hopes that whatever this ends up being crashes and burns. He spends the last number of the movie fantasizing of the two of them fighting all the time, coming to him for advice and support, Yenn being cruel, Geralt being stubborn. The two of them tearing their lives to pieces. Cruel and mean and bitter, emphasizing the worst of their personality traits, imagining all the different ways it could all fall apart. And him, their savior, mending their broken pieces, easing their aching hearts.

It’s childish and cruel and stupid. Once the movie’s over he sighs and lets it all go. They’re both beautiful, smart, wonderful people. Gentle and fiercely protective of their gentleness, scared of showing their soft bellies but desperate for any opportunity to do it.

He should have known, should have seen it coming, and maybe he did. He’d done everything in his power to keep the two of them from meeting all throughout highschool.

Jaskier shuts the tv off and walks down the hall, headed for her bedroom. He knocks on the door but doesn’t bother to wait for her to answer, just opens the door and crawls into her bed.

“Thanks for not locking the door.” Yenn is curled around on her side, facing the wall. She doesn’t move when he slides in, wrapping himself around her, but she isn’t trying to kick him out either. So far so good. They lay there in silence for a while and her body slowly relaxes into his. He presses his nose into her hair, filling his nostrils with the lovely subtle scent of her truly expensive ass shampoo, and he whispers, “Please don’t fuck him, Yenn.”

She tenses right back up, body heat spiking, and Jaskier tightens his hold on her. “When have you ever given a shit about who I fuck?”

“I don’t, Yenn. I just. Please, Yenn, not him.”

“Fuck you, Jaskier. You don’t fucking _own me. I am not yours._ ” Jaskier doesn’t have an ounce of fight in him. He can see the inevitability of this, knows better than to try and keep fighting against it. It sinks into his gut, heavy and exhausting. He doesn’t want to own her, has never wanted to own her, but he wants to be owned. Here in her bed, allowed to piss her off and cradle her in his arms while he does it, he wants to belong here.

“Please, Yenn, you know what he is to me.” He’s just begging now. Desperate and sad and pitiful. He knows it’s all in vain.

“Fuck you, Jaskier.” She doesn’t have any of the fight in her voice now. Whispered, soft, and gentle. A loving ‘fuck you’ this time. It’s still the end of this argument, Jaskier’s lost. He knows that Yenn will do what she wants, regardless of others, regardless of him. He loves that about her, even now when it feels like he means nothing to her. It’s a painful reminder that no matter how much she loves him, lets him in, lets him close to her heart, what he wants is second to what she wants.

“It’s our third date.” When she whispers those words it feels exactly like the knife in his back it is. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and grief pouring through him. Tears sting his eyes. His lip quivers. He tries to breathe slowly to stave off the tears as much as he can.

“You can be such a fucking ass sometimes, Yenn.” He pulls away from her, moving to sit up, feet on the floor. There’s a bottle of vodka in the freezer and he thinks there’s still a joint stashed away somewhere. He’s going to get obliterated and deal with the aftermath of all of this in the morning. Before he can stand up, though, Yenn wraps her arms around his chest and presses her face into the space between his shoulder blades.

“What if I actually, seriously like him?” Jaskier’s heart breaks. A few tears fall from his eyes, and he bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. He drops his head into his hands, pressing the meat of his palms into his eyes and tries to get a hold of himself.

He can see the entirety of his future, laid out for him, clear as day. He’ll have to watch Geralt and Yenn falling in love, listen to them fucking. They’ll get married, no matter how much Yenn runs her mouth about how it’s a fucked up hold over from when women were seen as little more than property. He’ll attend, might even be asked to walk her down the aisle. He’ll have to watch Geralt trying to hold back his tears, see Yenn roll her eyes at him lovingly. They’ll have kids, probably adopt, maybe three dogs. He’ll be allowed to babysit, allowed to stick around for dinner, probably only see them once a week, then once a month, then they’ll stop even bothering to send him christmas cards.

He’s going to have to watch them live out the life he wants with them from the outside. Unwelcome, unwanted, unseen.

“So, what,” he’s striving for levity but even he has to admit that his voice is wrecked, heartbroken and pitiful, thick with tears, “are you, like, monogamous now?” He huffs out a puff of air, trying to pass it as a laugh. He hears Yenn snort, feels her smile on his back, and it almost eases the pain. Makes it easier to ignore it at least.

“ _No_.” She says it with a laugh in her voice, like the very thought was so preposterous it can’t be anything other than a joke.

“Oh, well, thank the gods, Yennnefer, because. I mean, I love you, but that would have been an utter disaster.” He lets out a chuckle, feeling a little delirious, and Yenn joins in. He feels like shit but at least he made her laugh. He pushes down his feelings, his desires, his pain, and his fear.

“You know how I feel about him, Yenn.” Yenn moves around, situating one leg on either side of him, wrapping her arms around his stomach, and pressing her body flush against his. She presses a kiss to the back of his neck. It’s comforting and he resents how comforting it is.

“Yeah.” Jaskier sighs and gives up. There’s nothing left for him to do but sit back and let his heart break. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to love anyone else, resigned to his fate. “Let me fuck you.” Jaskier huffs out a surprised laugh and leans back into Yenn some. He’s tempted. He’s heartbroken, and furious with her, but he’s still tempted.

“You can’t just fuck me everytime you make me mad.” He can feel Yenn shrugging against him.

“Why not?” Well. It’s not her most eloquent argument but he’s swayed all the same. There are good reasons not to let it sway him. Geralt, namely, and his anger, secondly. But he’s tempted because there’s suddenly an expiration date on their time together. There’s a finite amount of times left for Yen to fuck him and he doesn’t think he can deny himself a single opportunity for it.

“Fine but I’m not taking at unicorn horned, glittery fucking monstrosity you call a cock.”


	3. but never both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving this story so much and I'm just so happy that people are reading it! Thanks for being here guys, I hope you love how fucked up everything is about to get (✧ω✧)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧  
> ((also it's been a very long time since i was in school so lets pretend my timeline regarding class schedules is sensical))

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day, aged nineteen; spring_

_to: Triss, Renfri, saturday 10:47_

i need a girls night

_from: Triss, saturday 10:52_

yen told you, huh?

_to: Triss, Renfri, saturday 10:52_

fuck you

_to: Triss, Renfri, saturday 10:52_

you KNEW and DIDNT tell me ?!?!?!

_from: Renfri, saturday 10:52_

???

_from: Triss, saturday 10:53_

I have lots and lots of booze

_from: Renfri, saturday 10:53_

i’m in

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged fifteen; summer_

Jaskier’s sitting on the counter right next to the stove top, minding his own godsdamned business, when Geralt walks in. He’s shirtless, because he’s always shirtless these days, and his hair is still wet. He walks right by him, smelling of fresh water, clean skin, and nothing else. Jaskier opened up every bottle stored around the bathtub, there’s a lot of bottles, and not a single one of them smelled like anything. Jaskier didn’t think there was such a thing as an unscented soap, even the unscented stuff had a scent to it. It’s become another bullet point on the list of shit that Geralt does not like. Scented soaps. Weird.

At least Jaskier doesn’t have to worry about Geralt nicking his fancy soaps. He likes the smelly goods stuff.

Geralt opens the fridge and Jaskier can’t help but watch the way the light illuminates his chest. He’s got actual muscle, actual weight to him, nothing like Jaskier’s long, skinny limbs. He’d been invited to join Geralt when he works out, which why the fuck is a sixteen year old working out?, but he’d hated every minute of it. Partly because it hurt and he spent an hour laid out on the floor feeling every muscle in his body spasming afterwards, but also because he could barely breathe, face burning the entire time, because he couldn’t stop looking at Geralt’s body.

He had to remember the fear of seeing his dad’s lifeless body in an expensive box, the rage that still burns in his gut when everyone pretends like he was a saint, even the rotting corpse of what he thought may have been a squirrel once that he found on the street when he was seven and learned what death was. Just every horrible thing he could remember in a desperate attempt to try and keep his cock from thickening up. He’s fifteen, dammit, this is basically torture.

Geralt standing less than five feet away, shirtless, dripping wet, perfectly illuminated by the fridge light, is also fucking torture.

The wet ends of his hair stick to his skin, sending water droplets running down his chest. Jaskier’s enraptured, his elvis sandwich left completely forgotten on the stove, following the trail of the water until it hits the hem of his sweatpants and is absorbed into the material. From there his eyes trail down to his cock, the outline of it, impossible to miss, and Jaskier’s mouth goes dry, his heart speeding up, his cheeks burning.

Gods, he’s fucked up. This is so fucked up. He should really not be staring like this. Jaskier wants to lick the water off of him. Does that make him weird? He thinks that might make him weird.

“What’re you making?” Geralt closes the fridge, popping open a box of raspberries. His voice jolts Jaskier out of his reverie and he snaps his attention back to the sandwich he’s supposed to be making. His face was already burning but now it feels like he’s on fire.

“Uh, elvis sandwich.” He mumbles, flipping it over and thanking all the gods whose names he can remember that it’s not blackened beyond edibility.

“What’s that?” Geralt’s close enough now that his side touches his shin anytime he breathes. It’s distracting. It’s torture. Jaskier laments his past lives and all the bullshit they pulled to make him suffer this. Fucking karma.

“It’s a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich, some people add honey, which I do. You don’t know about elvis sandwiches?” Geralt peers down at the delicious concoction, two parts confused and one part tempted. “You want a bite?”

“Sure.” Geralt offers the box of berries and Jaskier pops a few in his mouth, trying to keep his focus on the sandwich and not fucking burning it. His knee has water on it from Geralt’s skin. It’s driving him _insane_. He flips the burner off and plops the sandwich into the plate on his lap. He’s got a knife right next to him that he picks up to cut it in half from the corners, because he’s always thought that made sandwiches look fancier.

“This is a very precarious situation you’ve got going on.” Geralt is watching him judgmentally, the plate wobbling on his thighs as he cuts.

“Makes it more fun.” Jaskier tosses the knife into the sink, clattering around as it lands and making Geralt frown. Jaskier hands out half of the sandwich for Geralt. It’s still hot but not enough to burn his fingers. He cooked it on low. The butter’s made it crispy and Geralt’s staring at the globs of peanut butter dripping down his fingers, too. He looks skeptical.

“Oh, my gods, Geralt, just eat it before you get peanut butter all down my arm.” Geralt glances up at him before leaning in and sinking his teeth into the sandwich. More peanut butter spurts down his arm and Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath, surprised, wide eyed, face burning. He watches Geralt’s eyebrows jump up, surprised himself, peanut butter and honey smeared across his mouth. Jaskier wants to lick it off his lips, wants Geralt to lick up his arm, sticky and sweet and weird. This is weird. It’s weird how much he wants this.

Weird and fucked up and torture and bloody fucking karma.

“Oh, that’s good actually.” Jaskier clears his throat, kind of wants to cry, kind of wants to jerk off, also kinda wants to run away.

“It’s uh, it’s fucking horrible for you, though. Elvis died in the middle of a shit.” Geralt snorts, using this thumb to wipe the glob of warm peanut butter off of his chin.

“Shocking.” Geralt says it like it’s the least shocking thing he’s ever heard, which, yeah, fair.

“You want the rest of it or?” Jaskier thinks he’s doing an incredible job of not just absolutely losing his shit right now. Geralt sucks his thumb into his mouth and Jaskier can see his tongue working inside his mouth to clean his thumb. It’s doing all kinds of things to him and he tries to remember all the horrible things he had to think of last time this was a problem.

He’s in love with his step-brother and he thinks there’s no fucking way he can’t know. Nobody acts like this do they? He’s got to be fucking with him, this is willful, fully informed, on fucking purpose, torture. He can see the mischievous glint in Geralt’s eye, he can see the hint of a smile on his lips. This is cruel and unusual punishment.

“Sure, thanks.” Geralt licks the pad of his thumb one last time and takes the sandwich triangle from him. Jaskier just fucking knows that Geralt takes it in such a way that their fingers brush together on purpose.

Geralt winks and walks off, taking the remainder of the berries with him, and Jaskier takes three huge bites of his half in some desperate attempt to force his body into calming down. This is utterly embarrassing.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day; spring_

“That’s pretty fucked up, even for Yenn.” Renfri hands out the shots she just poured, her words garbled by the lime she’s still sucking on from the last round they took not two seconds ago. Jaskier shakes his head but piles up way too much salt on his hand regardless. Did it have to be fucking tequila? He hates tequila.

“I mean, the two of you have both gone off to date other people before, haven’t you?” Triss says, picking up the salt from where Jaskier set it down. Renfri sets lime slices next to their shots and spits out the one still in her mouth. “This is probably just another one of you guys’s little flings.”

“Shut up and shoot you sad fucks.” Renfri holds out her shot and the two of them clink their shots together, hitting the table in Triss’s solo dorm, and they all throw back. Jaskier holds his breath until he licks the salt and feels the lime juice pour down his tongue, but it still sends a shiver down his spine. He sucks on the lime like it’s going to save his life and ignores Renfri and Triss’s giggling at his reaction. 

“Ugh, why fucking tequila?” He asks before shoving the lime back in his teeth, trying to chase every drop of it. His throat burns, his chest burns, his stomach squirms around a little, but it’s good. He can already feel a buzz.

“So, they’re on a date like right now?” Triss asks and Jaskier just nods, focused on sucking this lime absolutely dry.

“I’ve never seen you this fucked up over anyone before.” Renfri says, turning around to mess with her phone. It’s connected to an old ass phone speaker and he just knows she’s adding some truly atrocious music to the queue.

“Yeah, I have to say, it’s kind of scary to see you, like, _jealous_.” Jaskier frowns at them, slumping back into the big, fluffy pillow behind him.

“Is this how the conversation is going to go? Because this is not helping.” Renfri and Triss don’t look bothered by his admonishments at all. They just shrug and stare at him, waiting for something more interesting to fall out of his mouth. Jaskier sighs.

“She’s never liked someone else this much before.” Yenn’s never said that before, ‘ _what if I actually, seriously like him?_ ’. Yenn is. She’s.

Yenn is _Yenn_.

Triss looks at him with something too gentle to be considered pity so he turns his attention to Renfri in order to ignore it. He thinks he can see her adding caramelldansen, which, he didn’t even know spotify had that in it’s cache.

“Not to mention the fact that it’s Geralt, which is just, extra fucked up.” Jaskier feels a stab of fear run through him like a lightening strike, shocking and unexpected. Renfri gives up on the music, probably filled it up with more than enough weird shit for now, and picks up another lime wedge. He looks at her, pleading, please, just keep your fucking mouth shut. Just this once.

Renfri smiles and starts pouring out another round.

“What, you think it’s revenge?” Triss snorts at her own joke and Renfri’s smile turns feral. Jaskier scoffs and tosses the drained lime onto the table with all the others.

“No way. Geralt’s a good guy.” Jaskier lets out a heavy sigh and scrubs at his face. This is a horrible situation, not a fun night of escapism. He has horrible friends. “This is, like, fucking serious.” Geralt knows who Yenn is to him, he knows pieces of her that most people don’t. He wouldn’t just fuck around with her without thinking about it, he’s a good guy, a _careful_ guy. If Geralt’s still dating her then he’s buckling down for something that’ll last longer than just a few torrid months.

Especially because she said ‘actually, seriously’. Yenn never says she likes someone ‘actually’ or ‘seriously’. Not once has she said that. Triss cuddles up next to him, jostling him around some, and hands him his shot.

“Again, super freaky to see you like this.” Jaskier pouts at her for being such a bitch but holds his hand out for her to pour the salt.

“I mean, Jaskier. Like.” Triss sighs and chews on her bottom lip for a moment. Triss is never hesitant so Jaskier sits up a little straighter and actually pays genuine attention. He feels caught, all of a sudden. Utterly exposed. A raw nerve, vibrating and vulnerable.

He should’ve just bought a bottle of wine and drank it by himself while he watched weird true crime shit on youtube. That would have been a better night than this.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you actually love her?”

Jaskier tosses back his shot without waiting to cheers it. He needs the distraction of the burn in his throat to deal with that question. Of course he loves Yenn. He’s always loved Yenn. But he feels like Triss is asking him something else.

“Yeah, Jaskier. Do you love _her_?” Renfri asks, just this side of sarcastic and he glares at her with pinched eyes as he tries to hold his breath long enough to lick the salt and suck the lime to avoid that horrible plume of acetone. Renfri takes shots of tequila like it’s water. What shit does she get up to to be able to take tequila like fucking water?

“You say that like you know something.” Triss points at her accusingly and Jaskier gives up. There’s no way Renfri doesn’t rat him out, especially not now that Triss has caught the scent of it.

“What? I’m just curious. You know how Yenn and Jaskier are.” Jaskier and Triss both stare at Renfri suspiciously. She’s using that ‘I’m an innocent doe who’s never made a mistake in my life’ voice that usually means ‘I just burned something down and need someone to corroborate my alibi’.

“How are we?” Jaskier asks around his lime, glaring at her. He doesn’t want her to spill his secrets because this one isn’t just a fun silly embarrassment, it’s painful and off putting, but he can’t help but press her a little, too. It’s so out of character for her to let a chance like this pass.

“Allergic to anything that might even hint at being serious.” Triss snorts, biting back her giggle and Renfri looks smug. Jaskier rolls his eyes and tosses the lime to the table.

“You guys suck. I came here for comfort, not to be attacked like this.” Jaskier gets up and heads to the kitchen. Triss may live in a solo dorm but it’s barely more than a closet and makes him feel like his teeny tiny apartment is a mansion in comparison.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Triss calls out after him. Renfri throws a lime slice at him, hitting him in the arm, and Jaskier hears her too loud, dramatic ‘ow’ when Triss kick her. “Don’t throw food around my house. Go pick that up you heathen.” Jaskier opens her fridge and whistles.

“Dude, Triss. Should we worry about you?” Renfri peers over his shoulder as she picks up the lime wedge and also lets out a low whistle.

“Yeah, man, that’s a lot of alcohol.”

“You’re both here because I promised you lots and lots of alcohol. If anyone has a problem here it’s the two of you.” Jaskier grabs a six pack of beers that look like they’ll taste fruity and easy to drink. Renfri grabs a different pack that looks like it has the highest alcohol content. Jaskier hands Triss a beer as he sits back down.

“You’re right, though. Teasing you isn’t a great way to make you feel better.” Triss says. Renfri huffs and cracks open her beer as she plops down, spilling some on the table.

“Sweet Melitele herself knows how fragile his poor little ego is.” Jaskier picks up a sucked dry lime wedge and tosses it at her for her endless rudeness.

“We just established that you’re here to make me feel better, you feral little thing.” Renfri sticks her tongue out at him and Jaskier responds in kind. Triss’s phone starts ringing, which means the pizza must be here, and when she stands up to go track down the poor, lost driver she smacks Renfri on the back of the head for him. Renfri just blows a kiss at her for her trouble.

Renfri turns around and stares him down with a sinister look on her face. Jaskier sucks down half his beer while staring at her. He doesn’t have a lot of time before Triss comes back and he doesn’t want to miss out on his chance to beg her with his words for her to keep her mouth shut but. Well. Then he’ll have to actually beg her to keep her mouth shut with his words.

“Thanks. Uh.” Jaskier sighs and pushes the fringe out of his eyes. He’s sweating a little from the alcohol and it’s really starting to hit him hard. Thank the gods. The pizza will help to settle him some, he didn’t eat lunch. “You know. For not telling her.” Renfri just shrugs.

“You ever gonna deal with your weird crush on your brother?” Jaskier scowls, shrugs miserably. He’s fucked forever, what is there to do?

“You got any advice?”

“Sure, you could tell him.” Jaskier laughs because Renfri’s fucking insane, but she doesn’t laugh with him. In fact, she looks pretty peeved that he doesn’t take her seriously. He just ignores her. “Suit yourself, jackass.” Jaskier doesn’t know why he bothered to ask her at all.

“You _know_ that I already fucking did. He made it pretty godsdamn clear he wasn’t interested.” This isn’t helping. This is the opposite of helping. Renfri plops her chin in her hand and stares at him for a long time. She squints her eyes, like she’s trying to suss something out, and she almost -just for a second- looks like she’s pitying him.

It makes sense that Geralt and Yenn would end up together. He can’t even risk picking out his own major without loosing his mother’s money. And there’s no way he can afford college on his own. Or this teeny tiny fucking apartment. The two of them know exactly what they’re doing. What they want. And neither of them are afraid to work for it. Both of them left their shit parents and their fucked up homes and went out and made something of themselves. Put in the work and actually did what they wanted to do with their lives.

Who is he? Just another little fuck up who never does the fucking dishes and struggles to keep his cock in his pants and has never once had to work a day in his life. He doesn’t know a damn thing.

Of course neither of them would want _him_.

“Holy shit. You really do love her.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. He’s drunk, and miserable, and Renfri already knows his worst secrets. Why not pile on one more?

“Yeah.” It’s heavy. It’s horrible. He can’t even look at her when he says it. Loving Yenn is the biggest mistake he ever made. The second she smells it on him she’ll kick him out. Yenn can’t be contained, won’t be claimed or owned. She’ll run away from him the same way she runs away from anyone stupid enough to think they love her. Tears sting his eyes and his throat feels like it’s closing up.

He can’t cry in front of Renfri. She’ll never let him live it down.

Only he really _does_ love her. He’s seen her bruised, and screeching, so mad he really did see her eyes flash red, and so broken she could barely get up to shower for days on end. When he says he loves her it’s different from when anyone else says it. He doesn’t want her contained, or submissive, or controlled.

And there’s not a damn thing he can do to get her believe it.

“So this is, like, an actual moment for you. Not your usual heartbroken bullshit over someone you only dated for three days to a month?” Jaskier can see the real care in her eyes under all of her rude fucking bullshit so he doesn’t throw the usual fit he would when she implies that his heartbreak can’t mean anything. He does, however, glare at her. A real glare, the kind that makes people snap their mouths shut and makes everything awkward for a few minutes.

Renfri just lets out another whistle and holds out her beer for him. “Cheers, bro. That’s fucking rough.” Jaskier lets the fire in his die out and clinks his nearly empty can against hers before he chugs the remainder of it. Triss walks in then, two pizza boxes in hand.

“What’re you two gossiping about? You know you’re supposed to shut up until I’m back into the room.”

“Just going over Jaskier’s miserable existence.” Renfri leans back on one hand and cracks open a second beer. Jaskier sticks his tongue out at her. Triss drops the pizza onto the table and turns on the tv. The second the boxes hit the table Jaskier’s throwing one open and pulling out a slice.

“Turn that shit music off and tell us what we’re watching today.”

“Hey, simple plan is not shit.” Jaskier snorts and reaches over to turn the music off.

“Simple plan is absolute shit _and_ you know it.” Renfri kicks at his foot with a frown.

“Swallow before you speak you nasty bitch.”

“Well if you two don’t have any opinions then we’re watching animal crossing playthroughs.” Renfri and Jaskier both moan but Triss just keeps on keeping on. Renfri makes a move to grab the controller away from her but Triss just avoids it.

“It’s my night and I say we watch weird internet conspiracy theories.” The other girls groan and Renfri falls onto her back, beer kept upright in the air.

“You two are the worst.” Triss grabs a slice and hands the controller over to Jaskier.

“Animal crossing videos are way better than bullshit conspiracy videos.” Jaskier sticks his tongue out at Triss, too, and goes about locating the longest, most clickbait-y title he can find. At least they’ve stopped talking about Yenn and Geralt.

_from: Geralt, saturday 21:10_

[a photo of Yen holding a bottle of beer and a burrito. It’s poorly cropped so that the only visible part of her face is her chin. If Jaskier didn’t know better he’d think Geralt sent him a picture of Yen’s tits on purpose, using the beer and burrito as excuses]

“Also can I stay the night? I don’t need to hear the two of them going at it.” Triss smirks and Renfri throws her head back laughing.

“You’re going to have to eventually.” Triss says and Jaskier pouts, holding out his shot glass.

“Shut the fuck up and get me plastered, please.”

—————————————————

_from: Geralt, monday 11:33_

I’m in town and have a few hours. Wanna hang?

Jaskier stares at his phone for a while, hesitating. He’s still feeling pretty raw from his girl’s night. Seeing Yenn and not acting weird around her was hard enough, adding Geralt into the mix could only make it near impossible for him to keep his shit together. But, he doesn’t want Geralt to come into town and not bother texting him, either. Jaskier distracts himself with fishing in his game for a few more minutes to avoid the problem for a few more minutes. He can hear Yenn behind him, studying for an upcoming exam. She’s turned up her volume so loud that he can hear her music regardless of the headphones.

He probably would have already said yes if Yenn weren’t here. Jaskier chews on his bottom lip and keeps fishing. He doesn’t want to have to see the two of them fawning all over eachother right now, not when he’d almost cried on Renfri - _Renfri_ \- ’s shoulder about them being together. About them being together and it being a serious ‘together’.

Still. It’s Geralt. There wasn’t really much a choice for him here.

_to: Geralt, monday 11:58_

hell yeah! videogames and take out?

_from: Geralt, monday 12:02_

Sounds good. I can pick it up on my way. Anything specific?

Jaskier taps his phone against his chin. He could ask Yen if she wants anything, he doesn’t think she’s eaten yet. He traces the map of his little section of the city that he’s been building up in his mind for years now, trying to remember what all there is on the way here. It’s still cold enough for him to get Phó but it’s warm in their apartment right now, especially with the direct sunlight. He has kind of been wanting burritos since he saw that picture of Yen’s tits.

_to: Geralt, monday 12:08_

whered those burritos you sent me a pic of come from ??

_from: Geralt, monday 12:09_

Food truck on the other side of town.

_to: Geralt, monday 12:10_

booooo

_to: Geralt, monday 12:10_

if it was a food truck then howd u guys have beer ????

_from: Geralt, monday 12:11_

Byob. I’m choosing now.

_to: Geralt, monday 12:12_

well ?? whatre u gettin

_to: Geralt, monday 12:20_

booooo telllll meeeeeeeeeeeeee

_to: Geralt, monday 12:32_

u ass

When Geralt shows up he’s got food for Yen, too, despite Jaskier purposefully not asking. He doesn’t look but he can hear their kiss when Geralt gets up to hand her her food. Jaskier thinks he does a pretty good job of not being a bitter fuck about it.

At least not externally.

—————————————————

He’s still awake when he hears the key in the door. He feels a split second of pure, blind panic, and then realizes that it’s probably just Renfri. He should really get, like, a bat or something. For intruders. That’s what people on tv usually do, they have bats and crowbars and guns and shit. He’s not about to get a gun, though, that’s just moronic.

Renfri trips a little when she walks in. He smiles, ready to totally call her out on it, when he catches sight of the mascara running down her face. This isn’t the first time he’s been awake when Renfri snuck into their home unannounced, but it is the first time he’s actually caught her sneaking in. Does she always show up looking this fragile? Jaskier feels his cheeks burn and he turns away from her, back to the tv, and coughs. Loud. He hears Renfri jump, and then sniff, and then huff.

“Oh, hey, Renfri. Did you text me to tell me you were coming?” Jaskier busies himself with pausing the video, what the fuck was he watching? He hasn’t paid attention to what youtube was autoplaying in a while now. Either way, he keeps his eyes on the tv for a few minutes longer to give Renfri whatever time she needs to get herself together. “I haven’t seen my phone for the last few days, I think I might have left it in Yenn’s car. Hopefully not Geralt’s.” Jaskier gets up, running his mouth on his way to the kitchen. He barely glances at her. She looks more skittish than usual, like a soft clap will be enough to make her bolt. It’s worrisome.

“I texted someone. Not that anyone ever checks their texts around here anyway.” Jaskier smiles, shrugs. She never texts and they all know that she never does but they all let her get away with the lie anyway.

“You hungry? I was about to make a snack.” She smiles, a small and scared thing, and he wonders if he should make some coffee, too. She looks wired, like she hasn’t slept in two days minimum. Jaskier can see the same resigned exhaustion around her eyes that he used to see in Geralt back when they still lived together. Hundreds of nights watching movies when he couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares.

Renfri’s certainly built up a far thicker mask than he’d ever realized.

“What kind of snack?” Renfri doesn’t look at him, poking around the strewn papers and books Yenn left on the table. Tea. He’ll make tea, not coffee. Sleepytime. He thinks they have sleepytime. It’s probably a year or two old but tea doesn’t go bad does it?

“BLTs, probably. Quick and easy.” She follows him the three steps it takes to get to the kitchen and hops up onto the counter. She’s got the perfect vantage point to watch. “Tea?” She sneers some at the offer but doesn’t refuse so he digs out some coffee mugs. The sink is empty. He doesn’t think about it. Hopefully the tea will settle her enough to have her falling asleep halfway through the second film.

“What are you doing awake, anyway? Usually you’re asleep by the time I get in.” Jaskier’s supposed to smirk, roll his eyes, ask her if she’s ever gonna contribute to the rent if she’s gonna act like she lives here. He hesitates on the script, though, caught off guard by the new context.

She comes here when she can’t sleep. When she’s exhausted from the nightmares but can’t bring herself to suffer through another one for the sleep she so clearly needs. She doesn’t come here until she thinks everyone else is already asleep. Jaskier clears his throat and commits himself to the script.

“You ever gonna pay rent you rascal? Acting like you own the damn place.” Renfri doesn’t play to the script properly either, though. She just smiles, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. Jaskier is suddenly, deeply, heart wrenchingly thankful that he’d never gotten around to moving the key. The microwave dings and he leaves the cup with the tea and the sugar next to her on the counter so she can doctor is however she wants. Renfri gets weird about touch sometimes and he has a feeling that right now is definitely one of those times.

They sit in silence while he pulls everything out of their little corners, piled up on the counter close to the stovetop. He puts the bacon in the pan and wonders if he should go ahead and make one for Yenn, too. All this noise will probably wake her up. He’s dropping bread in the toaster when Renfri speaks up again.

“So, how’s Geralt?” Jaskier shrugs, glancing over at her. She’s watching the bacon sizzle in the pan, looking more than a little out of it. He knows she parties, probably a little too hard, maybe that’s part of it? He should talk to her about that. Probably.

“He’s good. Well, perfect, actually.” Jaskier returns his attention to the bacon and sighs, exhaustion and melancholy sweeping over him all of a sudden. “I’m glad he’s back. I’ve missed him.”

“I mean, have you told him you want to fuck him?” Jaskier turns around and sneers at her, not amused in the slightest.

“He’s made it very clear he doesn’t want that from me, Renfri.”

“All the more reason to tell him! Either you two fuck or he fucks off again.” Jaskier shakes his head and turns his back to her. He knows she’s just pushing at the boundaries, desperate for someone to tell her all the shit she tells herself, same as him. He’s seen himself in her, far too much to ever really like her, so he doesn’t get mad. Not yet at least.

“That’s exactly what I _don’t_ want to happen, Renfri.” She’s quiet for a long minute, slurping at her tea loud enough that he can hear it over the bacon. Why is frying bacon so unbelievably loud?

“Isn’t it better for him to be gone than to have to watch this?” Renfri waves her hand around the apartment vaguely but he knows what she’s trying to say. Jaskier’s gotten really good at interpreting Renfri’s blunt word choice over the years. She’s an ass, and she’s never made a single attempt to not be an ass, but she cares, too.

“I didn’t have him for two years. It’s much, much worse to not have him at all. At least like this, he’ll be around. It’s enough.” He goes ahead and makes enough bacon for Yenn. Even if she doesn’t come trotting in for a sandwich he and Renfri can split it.

“How can you do that?” She basically whispers it, Jaskier can barely hear her over the loud pop and sizzle of the bacon.

“Do what?” She glances up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment. She looks like she’s made of broken glass.

“Love someone who doesn’t want you.” It feels like a knife in his gut. Abrupt and honest and fucking brutal. It knocks the wind out of him, has him blinking back tears, breath shaking.

“Fuck you Renfri.” He returns his attention to the sandwiches, trying to swallow down his desperate need to toss her out, tell her to go to her own fucking house for once. But Jaskier’s made a life out of loving the wounded and skittish. At the very least he can let her sleep in the tub again.

“I mean it Jaskier. I want to know how you can do it. I want to.” He looks up at her, confused. Is she fucking with him? “I want. How can you?” She buries her face in her hands, shaking like a little leaf. “I. I mean, Jaskier.” His anger is washed away the second he can hear her voice thick with tears, hear her sniffing all over again. He turns the stovetop off.

“How can you love someone who, who.” He can hear her breathing picking up, can hear the panic rising in her voice. “And you just. It’s not. I mean, the shit that I’ve been through, Jaskier,-”

“ _Hush_.” Renfri looks up at him, too shocked to be mad. “Breathe. Don’t speak, just breathe.” Her bottom lip trembles a little and she opens her mouth so he takes the one step he needs to press his chest against her legs and gently puts his hand over her mouth. He can see the tears in her eyes, but there’s anger, too, wild and unrestrained. She bites his hand, sinking her teeth in hard. He lets her do it, he earned it, she’s a scared and feral little thing right now and he’s earned her claws.

“Hush, darling. Whatever you need to say can wait. If you still want to tell me in the morning then I’ll listen. I’ll listen for hours, all day if you need. But not right now.” He’s known Renfri for nearly three years now and he’s uncovered more secrets of hers in the past twenty minutes then he has in all that time. She’d hate him for knowing what she was about to tell him in the morning. He’d never see her again and he can’t risk that. A tear falls from her eye and he’s trying very hard not to yank his hand away from her. He’s going to have some very interesting bruises.

“Whatever you were about to say needs to wait until you’ve slept. I can’t have you running away on me because I took advantage of you in this state.” Renfri carefully releases his hand and pulls her sleeve over her hand to wipe away the spit. 

“Okay.” Jaskier smiles and picks up her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Really, darling, have you not heard of waterproof? I didn’t even know they still made mascara than can run anymore.” He reaches around her to pick up their roll of paper towels and hands it out to her with a wink. She smiles, and snatches it from his hands.

“Fuck you.” Renfri smiles, and it’s a beautiful smile, and scrubs at her face. He should have gotten her the make up wipes that Yenn has in the bathroom, the really fancy kind that has lotion in them.

“Renfri, my dear.” Jaskier pushes his fringe out of his face and sighs. “This is going to sound like absolute bullshit, but the only love worth anything is the love you give.” Renfri licks at the paper towel and continues to scrub, glancing up at him occasionally.

“Well, you did warn me.” Jaskier chuckles and Renfri even smiles a little, too.

“I dated D’Steal in highschool. You remember her?” Renfri looks up, confused, and Jaskier digs out a knife to get to making these sandwiches now that the bacons all cooked and Renfri’s calming down.

“Yeah. She was kindof a massive bitch.” Jaskier laughs, nodding.

“Yeah, she really was. But I loved her, so we dated for like a whole year. Off and on, sure, but it was a year. Loving her was a whole hell of a lot different from loving Geralt. Loving her felt like trying to use a strainer to empty the ocean. Just stupid, you know? Endless. And it all went into a black hole. It was nothing. Just a whole lot of nothing.” He glances over his shoulder and she still looks completely lost.

“Loving Geralt is like. Like. Okay, this is going to sound weird but it really is the best thing I can come up with right now.” Jaskier licks his thumb and hands her a sandwich on a plate, cut in triangles. “You ever seen those videos about how to make a sourdough starter?” Renfri takes the plate and sets it down on the counter next to her.

“No.”

“Okay, well. You have to ‘feed’ it. Just, once a week, you put about a cup of flour in it and then it does some kinda magical chemical process and then bam. It’s a jar of dough that you can use to make bread. And there are starters like that that are years old. People have passed these jars down through _generations_.”

“That sounds super gross.” Jaskier sets down the sandwich he made for Yenn on the counter next to Renfri and goes about making his own.

“Well, it’s not. And that’s what loving Geralt is like. So it doesn’t matter to me if he never fucks me or if he’s so horrified by the idea of fucking me that he runs out on me for another two years. Or forever. Whatever. That’s not the point.”

“Well, what is the point? I’m not getting it.” Jaskier leans back against the counter across from her and takes a huge bite of his sandwich. She looks back to her old self. Color on her cheeks, sarcastic and knowing expression on her face, legs kicking around and taking up space and eating. It’s good to see her eating. It satisfies the mother hen in him.

“Loving, Renfri. There will be people in this world you can’t help but love. And you have to decide if loving them is nothing, or if it’s a jar of sourdough starter. Them loving you back is almost completely incidental.” Renfri squints her eyes at him, looking like she hasn’t bought a single word he’s said this whole time.

“Well, that sounds like a whole lot of bullshit.” Jaskier sighs, and shrugs. He can’t help but feel overwhelmed by how fond he is of her. The first knuckle on his right hand is already starting to bloom a pretty purple bruise. She already looks sleepy and Jaskier thinks she might not even make it past the first movie.

“Texting us when you’re on your way only means that the coffee will be ready by the time you get here, love.” Renfri looks away from him with a barely there pinkness rising to her cheeks.

“Whatever. What movie are we gonna watch?”

Yenn does end up making an appearance, right when Jaskier was reaching for the last half of the sandwich he’d made for her. Renfri had already gotten to the first half. They ended up only getting twenty minutes into _The_ _Dark Crystal_ before Renfri started nodding off and Yenn dragged her off to her bed for the night.

In the morning Renfri makes coffee and thanks him before running off for class and that’s that. 

—————————————————

This is a terrible idea. He doesn’t even have the very flimsy and convenient excuse of drunkenness this time. Jaskier’s already made this exact mistake enough times to know that it’s going to jeopardize his relationship with Geralt. By now he thinks they’ve actually had the ‘what are we/are we dating’ conversation, too, but he hasn’t exactly fucking asked for confirmation yet.

He doesn’t push her off of him, though.

Yen bites down on his bottom lip and digs her nails into his scalp, clawing down his skull. He gasps and moves his hands to palm her ass, grinding his cock against her, letting her feel exactly how much he wants this regardless of the mountain of reasons why he shouldn’t. Why this is only going to end in fucking flames.

“Couldn’t convince Geralt to come over?” It’s bitter, and stupid to remind someone of their partner when they’ve got their tongue down his throat, but whatever boundaries he does have with other people don’t exist for Yenn. They never did.

She just laughs. She steers him, stumbling backwards, until she hits the kitchen table. He can hear the table smacking into the wall and something hitting the floor with a loud thunk.

“Don’t be stupid, Jaskier. No one’s tongue can rival yours.” She smears her mouth across Jaskier’s jaw, leaving a trail of her blood red lipstick on his skin, and bites down hard on his neck.

“Fuck, Yenn, you _bitch_.” It hurts but it goes straight to his cock, too, and she fucking knows it does so she doesn’t let up, pulling his skin to make him gasp and shutter and hiss. She’s always been like this, biting just a little too hard, scratching just a little too deep. It’s like she wants to leave a scar on his skin, like she wants see just how far she can push him before he stops crawling into her bed at all.

The fact that it makes his cock throb every time she does it is just a fucking plus.

“No point in pretending with me, Jaskier.” She licks a long stipe across the bite marks he just knows she’s left behind. He’s going to have to use her foundation for the next two fucking weeks to hide the bruise that’s going to leave behind. She hops up onto the table and Jaskier moans, licking into her mouth as she spreads her legs wide and wraps them around his waist, pulling him in closer. She uses the grasp she has on his hair to yank his head to the side so she can lick at the shell of his ear and whisper, breathy, sending lust slashing through his gut. “I know all your dirty little secrets, _darling_.”

Jaskier grips her thighs hard, gasping, feeling the soft give of her warm flesh and her hands scratch down his chest almost tickling him when she gets to his stomach. He blearily turns to slot his mouth against hers, desperate to return to the inviting, wet heat of her mouth. When she does shit like that it makes his heart beat so fast he worries he might fucking die like this. It’d be a worthy death.

“Fuck, Yenn, this is a stupid fucking idea.” He mumbles, hands sliding up her thighs rucking up her skirt while he does it.

“Oh?” She unzips his jeans slowly, fingers brushing over his thickening cock and he hisses, bucking his hips to chance that small amount of friction, just aching for her touch. “And why is that?” She pushes his jeans down to his thighs and palms his cock through his boxers. He presses kisses to her neck, moaning and grinding his cock into her hand.

He slides his hands up her legs to wrap around her hips, her skirt rucked up to her waist by now. No fucking underwear because he’s not even sure if she owns any, and pulls her close enough to grinds his still clothed cock against her bare cunt. She sighs in his ear, nipping at his lobe, making him shiver. He’s always loved her quiet sighs, but he’s much more enamored by her loud moans. It takes work to unlock those, work that he loves more than anything else, more than air in his lungs.

Jaskier’s been fucking Yenn for months now, made it his mission to know exactly what she likes and how hard she likes it. Yenn is easily his favorite person to fuck, she likes it just as filthy as he does, loves running her mouth just as much as he does. It just makes sense, fucking her. The first time it felt like he was made for it and he didn’t want anyone else. Not truly. Not the way he wants her.

He doesn’t want to answer her because then they’ll have to deal with the truth of it. He doesn’t want to pull away from her, doesn’t want her to hop down from the table and right her skirt and go back to her own room to handle this alone. He’s not an honest man, not a kind and giving one, he’s not the one to stop this mistake from happening. He’s selfish, and cruel, and he’s never been able to say no to Yenn, or to any inch of Geralt he could grasp. He whispers against her temple, face burning with the shame of his incoming question but completely incapable of stopping himself from asking it.

“How does he fuck you?” He sinks two fingers inside of her, torturously slow. She gasps arching her back and pressing her tits to his chest, clawing at his back. She rolls her hips, grinding down onto his fingers, adjusting to the weight and width of them. She whines and mewls and pushes her hands under his shirt so she can claw at his skin. He watches her face, the shape of her mouth, the way she pants, bites at her lips, a blush dusting across her cheeks, the swell of her tits and the mesmerizing way they move with her breathing. His mouth waters to suck a mark into her skin there, but he can’t. It sends a thrill of panic, lust, desire, all of it down his spine.

He can’t leave behind a mark that Geralt might find.

She opens her eyes when he asks and her mouth quirks up into a debauched smirk, eyes burning with that beautiful fire. He thinks she’ll burn him up, nothing but ash and smoke, and he’d fucking thank her for it.

He fucks his fingers into her, hard and quick, without warning, barely even letting her adjust to the stretch of his fingers. She lets out a high pitched moan, almost like a laugh, smiling huge and biting down on her bottom lip. He’s enraptured by the feel of her, the weight of her gaze, the pleasure he can see he’s causing.

“He fucks me deep. And slow. He doesn’t know that he won’t snap me in half yet.” Yenn puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him down. Jaskier sinks to his knees immediately. She lifts one of her legs so it hangs over his shoulder and when he dives forward to lick her she yanks his head back by his hair, sending waves of pleasure-pain down his neck and his spine. He whines, looking up at her from under his eyelashes and she smirks. She’s fucking beautiful. “He likes to watch me come, likes to watch me ride his cock, watch my fingers on my clit. He comes with my fingers on his tongue, sucking the taste me of me.”

Jaskier fucks his fingers into her and she moans, pulling one hand away so she can support herself so she can lean back and grind her hips. Jaskier tries to lean forward once more, desperate to taste her, but she holds him back still, smiling and biting her lip.

“Yenn, please.” It’s an embarrassingly pitiful whine but he knows how much she loves it when he begs to go down on her. He can feel how wet she is, it’s practically dripping down his wrist she’s so fucking wet. He’s so close he can smell her and his cock is throbbing at the sight of her, his fingers fucking into her, already so fucking wet.

“Please what, Jaskier?” Jaskier crooks his fingers and Yen throws her head back and lets out a loud moan. He can make her louder, though. 

“Please let me make you come, Yenn. I want to taste you.” He leans forward, pinpricks of pain trickling over his scalp where she’s still holding him back with his hair. Yenn moans and finally, finally allows Jaskier to bury his face in her cunt. He can feel her shaking as he licks her up, sucking on her clit as he continues to finger her. He looses himself in it. It’s incredible, and heady, and he thinks he could do this forever.

She uses the hold she has on his hair to move him where she wants him. Eventually she pulls his head back a little so she can fuck herself on his tongue, holding him still and grinding her cunt into his mouth. Jaskier moans, grabbing his cock with his free hand, suddenly desperate to free himself. He can feel his cock drooling.

Her thighs squeeze him, shaking, and she’s whining so he knows she’s fucking close. He’s careful not to change the rhythm he’s set with his fingers, despite how tempted he is. The louder she gets the more he wants to fuck his fingers into her harder and faster but she’s trained that out of him. Her loud, high pitched, ‘ _oh fuck_ ’ makes his cock twitch, precome drooling onto the floor, and she absolutely gushes into his mouth as she comes. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, fucking and sucking her through her orgasm, until she yanks his head away from her.

“Fuck Jask,” she lets go of his hair so she can brush hers out of her face, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Jaskier smiles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and stands up high enough to nip at the swell of her tits in her dress. He grabs her waist and pulls her closer to the edge of the table, her legs wrapping around his waist once more. “Oh, yes. Fuck me, Jaskier. It’s been far too long since you’ve fucked me last, darling.”

“That’s because you’ve been way too busy,” Jaskier slides his cock into her slowly, inch by inch, whispering into her neck as her hands pull on his hair just hard enough to make him shiver, “fucking my godsdamned brother.” Yenn laughs breathlessly and Jaskier bites her neck in retaliation. It makes her gasp and then laugh through a moan, grinding down on and trying to fuck his cock deeper into her.

“Oh, don’t pretend that you’re not getting off on it.” Jaskier licks and kisses where he bit her, careful to try and not leave a mark behind. “I know you listen to us.” Jaskier groans and he’s all the way inside her. She grinds down, panting and trying to adjust to him, and they both need a moment to catch their breath. “I know you listen to us, Jaskier. It gets me so wet, thinking about you fucking yourself right down the hall, while he fucks me.” Jaskier thrusts into her, hard and shallow, knocking the table into the wall. “He’s thicker than you are.” She whispers and Jaskier sets a brutal pace, fucking into her as hard as he can, slamming the table into the wall and throwing books and papers all over the floor. It’s all such a fucking mess.

“Shut the fuck up, Yenn.” Yen pulls his head up and kisses him, smiling and nipping at his lips, their teeth clanking together. It’s less of a kiss and more just mouthing at one another, breathing in the same air, lips brushing against lips. She flicks her tongue out, licking at him. She twists her fingers in his hair. She whispers filth. It’s perfect.

“Could you taste him on me?” He’s holding her hip too tightly, there’ll be bruises. Bruises that Geralt didn’t cause. Bruises he’ll see. It’s horrible and disgusting and dangerous but fuck if Yen isn’t right. He’s completely getting off on it.

“Fuck you, Yenn.” It’s an empty phrase, no heat behind it, and Yenn pulls on his hair, hard, yanking his head back, baring his neck. He moans and fucks into her harder. She bites the taught muscle of his neck, just hard enough to make him moan. She bites him several times, down the length of his neck, stacking them on top of one another. He bruises so easily that he worries the entire side of his neck will be one big bruise by the ned of this. He can feel her legs shaking around his waist. He won’t be able to explain any of this.

“Come inside me, Jaskier. I want to feel it.” Jaskier sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, painful and bruising. He’s so close, his cock is throbbing. He can still smell her on his tongue, taste her on his lips. She’s so fucking wet, it’s all over him. Sweat drips down his back. He thinks he’ll probably be able to smell her on the table no matter how hard he tries to clean it up later.

“I’m going to make you lick me clean. Or, maybe I’ll make him lick me clean?” Jaskier comes hard, gasping, shaking with it, breathing hard. He grinds his cock into her, shallowly thrusting through his orgasm. He kisses her as much as he can while trying to catch his breath, covered in sweat and slick. The room stinks of their sex. “He would fucking love to, you know. He licks up every last drop of come he can find. He fucking loves it.”

“Fuck, Yenn, you’re fucking killing me.” He whispers into her mouth. Post orgasm clarity trickles in, slow and painful. He’s never bothered feeling guilty about fucking someone else’s partner. That’s their mistake to make, not his, he’s not about to make someone else’s choice for them.

Except for Geralt’s partners. And Yenn is one of those now.

It’s disconcerting, feeling guilty for fucking Yenn. Yenn is a part of him, an extension of him, it feels like hating his own hand. He buries his face in her neck and breathes her in, the scent of her shampoo, her sweat, their sex. She lets him take the moment to catch his breath, to feel himself grow soft inside her, running her hands up and down his spine soothingly.

“On your knees, Jaskier. Tell me if you can taste him.”

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged seventeen; summer_

“Why are you trying to take the pickles?” Jaskier eats another spoonful of his yoghurt and stares at Geralt like he’s got two heads. There’s a shopping bag sitting next to him on the counter that’s already been filled with all the dry foods Geralt’s pilfered.

“Why won’t you let me take them? They’re a perfect driving food.” Jaskier laughs, shaking his head.

“Geralt, they’re a terrible driving food! You’re gonna get fuckin’ pickle juice everywhere.” Geralt leaves tomorrow, break of dawn, and Jaskier’s pretty sure that their parents still have no clue. He’s doing a pretty good job of keeping his shit together. It’s only an hour away and Geralt promised to call at least once a week and send pictures of all the cute wolf-dogs at the sanctuary. Still, Jaskier feels like this is it. The last real goodbye.

“You don’t even like pickles, Jask. I’m taking the pickles.” Geralt’s not even trying to restrain his smile right now. He looks gorgeous like this, relaxed, unbothered, on the cusp of the ultimate freedom.

“And what, you do all of a sudden?” Geralt frowns and looks down at the jar of pickles in his hand, hesitating.

“Alright, yeah. Good point.” Geralt opens the fridge back up and puts the pickle jar away. Jaskier sets his yoghurt down on the countertop, far enough away from his hip that he can’t knock it over accidentally. He thunks his heel against the cabinets as the anxiety begins to curl back in.

“You’re really fucking leaving.” Jaskier can’t quite meet Geralt’s eyes so he ends up staring at a creepy cat magnet on the fridge. It’s staring right back at him from a window sill, some dumb landscape painting making up the view behind him. He’d stolen it from Eskel’s house the one time he’d been there, he doesn’t know why, but it’s been way too long now for him to give it back. At least Geralt doesn’t know where he got it.

He’s going to leave. After they’d only just started talking again after the whole fiasco with Renfri.

“I am.” Geralt turns around and leans against the countertop so that his hip presses against Jaskier’s leg. They both stare at the scattered collection of magnets. Jaskier can’t name where most of them came from, doubts that Geralt can, either. Jaskier’s done a really good job of not crying or anything else dramatic and annoying like that so far. He feels like he’s about to burst open any second now at the slightest provocation.

“Gods, Geralt, am I ever going to see you again?” He turns to look at him which turns out to be a major fucking mistake. Geralt’s looking up at him, so much closer than he thought they were. All of Geralt’s usual defenses are gone and Jaskier thinks he might actually be able to read his fucking thoughts in his eyes.

“Of course. I’ll come visit you all the time, and you can come visit me, too. If you ever learn how to fucking drive.” Jaskier smirks, shaking his head.

“Fuck that. Why else would we have uber and lyft and all those other apps if I’m not gonna use ‘em?” Geralt chuckles, but doesn’t play his part of this old argument. Jaskier thinks he might be imagining things but it looks like his eyes glance down to his mouth for a second. Jaskier’s chest flutters with hope, suddenly full of butterflies, and he swallows hard.

What’s he going to do now? How’s he supposed to finish out his last year of highschool with his heart an hour away in the middle of sme stupid fucking forest?

“Thought you were supposed to be the one lookin’ out for me Geralt.” It feels like he’s being pulling in closer and closer. He thinks that Geralt might be leaning in, too. Anyone else and he would already leaned in to kiss them by now, but this is Geralt. Fucking _Geralt_. His _brother_.

Jaskier licks his lips and this time he can’t miss seeing it when Geralt tracks the movement. It takes him a lot longer to look back up to his eyes this time. It’s the most obvious Geralt’s ever been, blushing and wide eyed and licking his own lips. All the almosts, all the maybes, the long stares, the lingering touches, the sitting too close. It doesn’t feel so much like wishful thinking all of a sudden.

“You don’t need me, Jask. You’re smart, way smarter than me.” Geralt’s hand is on the countertop, fingers pressing against his thigh, his whole body turned to face him. They’re so close now Jaskier can feel him breathing.

“Geralt.” Jaskier whispers, dropping his gaze to his mouth and incapable of looking away. “You’re breaking my heart.” He leans forward and kisses him. He’s fantasized about kissing him so often, all the time. He’s watched him kiss girls at parties. He’s kissed Eskel and wondered if he used to bite Geralt’s bottom lip, too. He’s wondered if he enjoyed Renfri in his lap as much as he did. In all that time he never once thought he’d ever have a chance to actually kiss him.

It’s gentle. Almost chaste. Jaskier pulls back, riddled with anxiety because Geralt isn’t kissing him back. Geralt’s staring at him, eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide, lips parted. He looks like he’s begging to be kissed but Jaskier just bites his lip and waits. Jaskier’s face is burning and he’s starting to fidget, uncomfortable and anxious and maybe starting to freak out, too.

It’s too weird, he’s too weird. He’s just been reading too much into innocent little moments and Geralt only ever wanted to be a good guy to him. Jaskier swallows down the huge lump in his throat. “Geralt, I’m sor-,”

Geralt kisses him.

It’s revelatory. Jaskier lets out a low, surprised squeak, kissing him back without hesitation. Jaskier’s hands flies to cup his face, tilting his head to get a better angle. Geralt sighs into his mouth, his hand grasping a hold of his thigh and squeezing him. Jaskier’s entire world narrows down to the feel of Geralt’s mouth on his. Geralt’s hands moving to grasp his waist. Geralt’s tongue sliding at his mouth. Geralt’s gasping breaths. The scent of him fills him, the heat of him burns him. He’s suddenly, overwhelmingly desperate. Jaskier’s hands slide into Geralt’s hair, freshly turned silver, and unbelievably soft from all the conditioner he’s been using lately. He wants to touch every inch of his body. He wants to fuck him. He wants to suck his cock. He wants all of him, every piece, under his tongue. He wants to spend forever in his arms.

“Boys!” Jaskier’s mom calls out, slamming the front door behind her. “I got sushi on the way home!” Geralt shoves him away, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, shocked and scared and looking around frantically. Jaskier catches himself with his hands, smacking his yoghurt halfway across the kitchen.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s hand is in his yoghurt, splattered all over the countertop, “don’t-,” but Geralt grabs the bag of food and runs up the stairs without looking or hesitating or speaking at all. Jaskier hops down from the countertop with every intention of following him but his mother walks into the room.

“Julian, sushi!” His mother holds up the bags of togo food with a huge smile. Jaskier has never hated his mother before, not the way Geralt hates his father, but shit if he wasn’t close to it now. “Where’s Geralt?” She turns to the base of the stairs and yells up them into the hallway, “ _Geralt_! Sushi!”

“He’s got a headache, mom. Just, he went to bed early.” She turns to face him with a pout but doesn’t fight him on it.

“Oh, Julian. Did you just throw a container of yoghurt across the room? What is wrong with you? Clean that mess up.” And with that she’s gone, filling the oppressive silence with the sound of crinkling plastic. Jaskier cleans up the mess as quickly as he can, desperate to run upstairs and talk to Geralt about what just happened. To maybe even keep kissing.

They kiss now. He never wants to stop. Why didn’t they do this earlier? They could have been doing this every single day for _years_ now.

He knocks on Geralt’s door, whispers “Geralt, let me in.” Geralt’s door is closed, which means it’s locked, so he doesn’t even bother trying the handle. Jaskier waits a long moment, ear pressed to the door, but he cant hear anything. Not even the click of his controller. He knocks on the door again, heart in his throat, slamming in his chest, hands shaking. He doesn’t want to alert his mom, he can’t wait until morning, and he’s getting the sinking suspicion that Geralt hates him.

Jaskier thunks his head against the door and pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls him. He listens to the phone ring and ring and ring and he tries the door handle even though it’s definitely locked.

“Please answer me, Geralt. Please.”

“Go to bed Jask.” Jaskier sighs, almost relieved, and presses the phone tighter against his ear.

“Please, Geralt, just open the fucking door.”

“It was a mistake, Jask. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen.” Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and feels a waves of sadness, fear, and nausea roll over him.

“Geralt, please.” His throats closing up. His eyes sting with tears. He slams his palm against the door, loud and painful.

“Go to bed, Jask.” Geralt sounds exhausted. Pleading.

“Fine, fine, but. Please, Geralt, please just don’t hate me? Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry.” Jaskier sniffs, tears falling from his face, and he’s suddenly very glad that Geralt didn’t let him in. He doesn’t want to be seen like this.

“Jask, I don’t hate you.” Geralt whines it, like he’s been kicked, and Jaskier nods even though he can’t see him. He believes him. Geralt doesn’t hate him. But Geralt also doesn’t want him. Despite kissing him. And he’s leaving in the morning. Break of fucking dawn, gone forever.

He’s never going to see him again.

“Promise me you’re not going to just disappear out of my life forever.” He should have fucking learned after Yenn. Of course he can’t have either of them. Of course they wouldn’t want him. Geralt’s quiet on the other end, just feet away, completely unreachable. “ _Promise me_ , Geralt. Please, please.”

“I promise, Jask.” Geralt hangs up and Jaskier knows it’s a fucking lie.

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day; spring_

Jaskier didn’t sleep for fucking shit last night. He could hear Yenn and Geralt just really going at it. She must be stressed with finals looming over their heads, getting closer every day. It’s usually his fucking job to fuck her through finals.

He could have put on headphones but that would have made listening to them getting off really difficult.

He’s not proud of himself. He did exactly what Yenn told him she wanted him to do. He had himself another sad fucking wank to their loud sex and felt embarrassed for an ever increasing list of reasons.

They’re loud on purpose. They haven’t moved the bedframe back on purpose. They like the way it smacks into the wall, letting Melitele and all of fucking Nilfgaard know what they’re doing. He’s being tortured, taunted really, with the sounds of their fucking. He has a bite mark on the inside of his wrist where he had to hold back his own keening moans when he heard Geralt come. He let out a loud, low moan and Jaskier came harder than he’s ever come before. He saw stars. Jaskier’s never seen stars when he’s orgasmed. He thought that was just a bullshit porn thing.

He’s not sure how long he can endure this.

“Why do you two keep wasting your money on this shit?” Jaskier jumps outs of his skin, flinging a few bits of scrambled egg into the wall. Geralt smiles at him, painfully fond, and still managing to look disappointed despite the fondness. He slowly reaches up to pluck the cigarette from his mouth. Jaskier lets him and watches Geralt smush it into the edge of the sink with his lips still parted.

The sink is empty these days. Jaskier’s still not doing the dishes. He can’t help but take it as a personal offense everytime he sees it.

“Not _my_ money.” Geralt huffs, glancing up at him, still annoyingly fond. Jaskier goes back to the eggs, shrugging. “Can you make some coffee? Also, I know we’re not really supposed to say it these days, but I mean. C’mon. Smoking really does look fucking cool.” Geralt shakes his head, doing a much better job of looking disappointed now, and begins to root around for the coffee.

“I knew she’d end up being a horrible influence on you.” Jaskier tries to take it with a smile, he knows he’s just trying to be their usual playful bantering selves, but it still sits on his shoulders weird.

“Yes, well, and now you’re fucking her so you know how impossible it is to deny her.” It comes out way more bitter than it should have but he barrels through, forcing in his usual levity. “Besides, I wasn’t the greatest influence on her, either.” Jaskier turns to wink at Geralt but he pulls back, surprised by how close they’re standing now. Geralt’s staring at him unimpressed, clearly not believing a word he says. Jaskier’s caught off guard, Geralt hasn’t been this close to him since that night he got drunk and curled into his chest, sobbing.

He’s been doing a pretty damn good job of not thinking of that night.

Jaskier’s attention is stolen by the pink bud of Geralt’s tongue poking out to wet his lips. They’re standing so close he can feel his body heat, smell the subtle scent of Yenn’s perfume, their sex, gods it shouldn’t make his cock twitch but it _does_.

“It’s true. I uh, I bought all the fucking weed. Just, a fuck load of weed.” Geralt smirks but says nothing. He should really not be staring at Geralt’s mouth, at his step-brother’s lips, the way he presses them together to push around the saliva, the way they roll out, puffy and pink and slick. He’s kissable. He’s the most kissable human being in the entire world. He’s practically begging him to close that small distance and kiss him.

If it were anybody else Jaskier would already be kissing him.

“Cuz, you know. I was a minor. My idea, not hers. She threw hissy fits about it that the time.” Geralt snorts, and his smirk turns into a real smile.

“Sounds like more of you being a brat.” Jaskier bites his lip, hard. Geralt doesn’t mean brat like that. Like the way Yenn says it. Like the way most people who call him that mean it. Geralt’s his fucking brother, Geralt has made it painfully clear that he only wants to be his brother, he does not mean brat like _that_. 

Geralt turns away suddenly, clearing his throat and making a show of clunking around with the coffee pot loudly. Jaskier’s face is burning with embarrassment, shame and guilt flooding in, and he turns to narrow his focus back down to the eggs. He turns the burner off, moves it to the cool burner, and drops in an extra tablespoon of butter. They’re going to be dryer than he usually likes but if he incorporates everything quickly enough and dumps it all onto a cool plate they won’t be completely dry and inedible. There’s nothing worse than dry fucking eggs. It’s a good distraction from what just happened.

Well, what just almost happened.

The atmosphere between them is painfully awkward. Jaskier spends the silent, tense minutes berating himself for still making the same, stupid fucking mistakes he’s been making since he was a kid. Shit like that was exactly why Geralt left for two years, he needs to stop doing this. He can’t keep doing this.

His heart can’t take it, no matter how much bullshit he spouts off about love to Renfri.

Jaskier’s dumping the eggs onto the plate when Yenn wraps her arms around his waist, making him jump for the second time that morning. He’s usually never this fucking jumpy. It’s still painfully embarrassing.

“What’re you making for us?”

“Uh, pancakes. And eggs. I was thinking bacon but we’re all out so.” Jaskier shrugs and Yenn squeezes him tighter.

“Lovely, darling, thank you.” She presses a kiss to the back of his neck and Jaskier’s heart sputters and maybe even stops for a second, too. He waits for Geralt to ask angry questions, for Yenn to lie through her teeth, for a fight, for something. He glances over to where they’re watching the coffee pot drip, waiting for there to be enough in the pot to pour into their mugs, curled up in eachother arms. No one says anything. Maybe he didn’t see it? Maybe he just assumes it’s nothing more than their usual affectionate friendship.

They look good together. Geralt’s got a hickey peeking out from under his collar and Yenn’s got her arms wrapped around his waist, face tucked into his chest between his massive pecs. It is, frankly, disgusting. Cutesy and sweet and intimate and just. So disgusting.

Jaskier pulls the pancakes out from where they’ve been warming in the oven and resigns himself to the eventual crash and burn he’s steering himself into with wide open eyes. On fucking purpose. 

—————————————————

—————————————————

_aged fourteen; summer_

_from: Yenn, wednesday 23:12_

Okay, I’m outside

_to: Yenn, wednesday 23:12_

omw

Jaskier grabs his backpack and tucks his phone into his backpocket. He’s already wearing his shoes, double checks that he’s got his keys in his pocket, and slips out of his room. He makes it as far as opening the guest bedroom’s window, where he uses the thick tree branch to climb down, before Geralt catches him. Well, he says ‘catches him’ but it’s not like Jaskier was trying to be sneaky. He’s never had to be before, and now that Geralt knows where he’s going it’s not like he needs to now. His mom sure didn’t give a shit.

“Jaskier, where the fuck are you going? It’s almost midnight.” Jaskier looks over to Geralt, standing in the doorway, wearing only a pair of sweats. Jaskier can easily see the shape of his dick, even in the low light from the moon and the streetlight. He tries very hard not to look but that just leaves the expanse of his chest so. Thankfully Geralt might not be able to see his blush in the darkness.

“Where does it look like I’m going. Cover me?” Jaskier slips out of the window, hopping onto the tree branch easily enough, but he feels something yank on his backpack to keep him from going any further. He sighs. “Geralt, let me go.”

“I don’t like you spending so much time with someone this much older than us Jaskier. I mean, don’t you think it’s weird?” Jaskier rolls his eyes and turns to look at Geralt over his shoulder.

“It’s only four years, Geralt. And we met when we were both still going to the same school. It’s not weird.” Geralt still doesn’t let him go, though, and Jaskier can see that little crease of worry between his eyebrows. It’s cute, and so sweet that Geralt cares for him. It only makes his dumb little crush that much harder to manage.

“She’s not, like, hurting you, though. Right?” Jaskier blinks. Hurting him? He tilts his head to the side, confused for a minute, before it occurs to him what Geralt is asking.

“What? Geralt, no. No, Yenn and I are just friends, I promise. She works the graveyard shift at this shitty little diner and I hang out in the corner and do my homework.” It seems to ease him some, and he releases his backpack. He doesn’t leave just yet, though, because Geralt’s still there in the window and he’s still looking so worried.

“Just.” There’s a loud honk and Jaskier can feel his phone vibrating in his back pocket. Geralt sighs and his shoulders drop in resignation. “Just call me, okay. If you feel like you’re in trouble, call me. I won’t tell anyone and I won’t ask anything, okay?” Jaskier’s heart soars and flutters and he knows that’s completely ruined.

“Okay, I promise.” Geralt nods and closes the window and Jaskier climbs down, landing with a soft thunk onto the soft earth. Yenn is waiting at the end of the road, joint already going.

“Yo, what the fuck, that took like fifteen minutes.” Jaskier tosses his backpack into the floorboard and hops in. He rolls his eyes and snatches the joint outta her hands.

“It took like maybe five. Don’t be dramatic.” Yenn drives off and Jaskier checks his phone, clicking on the texts Yenn sent to get rid of the notifications. He takes in a long drag and pulls up his camera.

“How’s that big brother bullshit working out for you?” Yenn holds out her hand for the joint but Jaskier takes a second, long pull before handing it back over. He’s the one who buys it after all, he just knows better than keeping more than one joint at a time in his room because his mother cannot be trusted not to get bored and go snooping.

_to: Geralt, wednesday 23:21_

[a grainy picture of Jaskier smiling, leaning a little towards Yenn. Yenn is heavily shadowed and a little blurry, taking a drag.]

_to: Geralt, wednesday 23:21_

try to get some sleep you insomniac

“I think I’m fucking in love him.” Yenn laughs, passing back the joint.

“You’re such a mess. Of course you fell in love with him.” She shakes her head and Jaskier frowns at her as he takes a drag.

_from: Geralt, wednesday 23:22_

Is she smoking while she’s driving?

Jaskier pulls his camera back up, making no attempt to hide what he’s doing. “No, Yenn, I mean it. This isn’t like, my usual M.O. This is actual real life stupid fucking love.” He passes it back and lets out a heavy sigh, more frustrated with himself then he is excited. He’d imagined falling in love a hundred times, fantasized about how wonderful it would feel, romantic and lightweight and poetic and all that Disney shit. It’s not that at all. It’s heavy and embarrassing and so completely inconvenient.

“I swear I must have been a serial killer or something in my past life to have karma this fucked up. Did my new step-brother have to be so beautiful? And kind? He’s so fucking nice to me Yenn.”

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:24_

[a photo of Jaskier smoking now with Yenn leaned in and blowing smoke in his face]

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:24_

…maybe

“Like, he actually cares. He caught me tonight and told me to be careful and to call him if I needed to.” He smacks at her shoulder to regain her attention and take back the joint. “He actually made sure you weren’t some creepy pedophile woman.” Yenn snorts and devolves into giggles.

“Well, at least someone fucking cared to ask. I’m shocked your mother hasn’t tried to have me arrested by now.”

_from: Geralt, wednesday 00:26_

Been holding out on me Jaskier.

“That’s what I mean! He cares more than she does, and she’s my fucking mother.”

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:26_

!!!

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:27_

ull smoke with me ?!

“Well, that’s hardly a basis for love, Jaskier.” Jaskier leans back into the seat and tries to determine if he’s going to have the full argument about this or not. He’s not in love with Geralt just because he’s kind. But Yenn is probably right, too, it’s too early to be calling it love. But it is love. There’s no doubt in his mind about that.

_from: Geralt, wednesday 00:28_

You act like we’re not the same fucking age Jaskier.

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:28_

how much older than me are you grandpa??

_from: Geralt, wednesday 00:28_

One. Fucking. Year.

“Yeah, well. I’ll keep you updated on all the different ways I’m being tortured by the gods. He walks around shirtless all the fucking time Yenn.” The longer they drive the brighter it gets. They’re getting close to where she works and there’s more streetlights and neon signs here. It fills the car with color and light and he idly considers sending a better picture to Geralt so he can actually see Yenn’s face.

“I believe it, he does live there after all.” Jaskier rolls his eyes at Yenn’s usual sarcasm and decides against the picture. Seeing how much older she is in clear lighting might only make things worse.

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:31_

last i checked i was 14 and you were 16

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:31_

thats two years

“Have you ever been in love before, Yenn?” Yenn laughs openly and Jaskier can’t help but giggle along even though he’d been completely serious. For all the time they spend together and all the years they’ve known each other there’s still huge chunks of her life he doesn’t know about.

_from: Geralt, wednesday 00:32_

Your birthday is in two months, Jaskier.

“Love doesn’t exist Jaskier. It’s just brain chemicals and survival instincts and all that bullshit tricking you into subservience.” Jaskier scoffs, shaking his head.

“I love you, Yenn, and there’s nothing about that assisting in my survival. Nor have I ever been subservient to you.” Yenn shrugs. “Oh, come on, Yenn. Admit it. Admit that you love me.” He says it lightly, laughing, but he means it. It’s not like she’s never said it before, but she says it so quietly, so rarely, that he does wonder. He worries, from time to time, if he’s really little more than an annoyance to her.

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:34_

its far past your bedtime granpa

“Friends are different, Jaskier. No, really,” Yenn’s waving around the joint as she speaks and Jaskier reaches out to take it out of her hand before she flings ash onto him again. “You decide to care for someone with none of the social and physical benefits that a romantic relationship involve. Therefore, it’s different.”

“But love doesn’t exist?” Jaskier ashes the joint and smirks. She’s been fucking caught in her own logic and they both know it.

“No. Doesn’t exist. Love and care are two different things.” Jaskier laughs.

_from: Geralt, wednesday 00:38_

They haven’t invented a middle finger emoji yet, but I need you to know that I’m sending it to you.

_to: Geralt, wednesday 00:38_

i take -10 psychic damage

—————————————————

—————————————————

_current day; spring_

He doesn’t really notice them when he walks in because of how the Continent’s Tiniest Apartment is set up. He walks in, kitchen table to the left, living room to the right, with the couch’s back turned towards the door. He drops his keys onto the table, thunks his backpack to the floor, and then Yenn’s head pops up from over the couch and he jumps half out of his skin.

“Pizza on the stove and Geralt got you some of those weird canned coffees you like.”

“Oh, hell yeah, thanks!”Jaskier leans sideways to get a better look at the couch and then he can see Geralt under her, his hands on her hips. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone under Yenn but it’s weird nonetheless. It’s Geralt and he’s not supposed to want to look. Yenn winks at him and his face burns.

He quickly picks his backpack back up and veers off into the kitchen. He’s heard them, certainly, but this is the first time he’s really seen anything so blatant, and he still feels a wave of guilt everytime he looks at the kitchen table.

It hasn’t stopped him from continuing to fuck her, though.

He is excited about those coffees, though. That was really nice because the korean market they’re sold in isn’t on the way here at all. He grabs two of them, Geralt bought six and they’ll be gone by the end of the week, and two slices of pizza before walking to his room very pointedly _not_ looking at the couch. He doesn’t need to see what they look like together.

He closes his door even though he usually never bothers to and puts on his headphones, too. Volume up loud so he doesn’t have to hear anything, noise cancellation feature turned off. He puts in a valiant effort to focus on his homework, he’s got a lot of shit he needs to get done and a lot of anxiety about his upcoming exams.

He shakes the pen in his hand and stares at the books on his desk. He knows they’re fucking on the couch. He doesn’t have to hear it to know it. He knows that Yenn had to talk him into it, too. Geralt’s way too considerate to do something so rude in a public space of a shared apartment. Jaskier has experienced first hand how persuasive she can be, though. Lots of ‘ _we’ll be quiet_ ’ and ‘ _he won’t even notice_ ’ and probably just the natural desire to fulfill her every wish she inspires in most people.

He tries to resist it as long as he can, but the longer he waits the more he begins to worry he’ll actually succeed. He shouldn’t want to listen to them, he shouldn’t want to strain his ears to hear every sound Geralt makes. He shouldn’t. But they are in a public space. Much closer to his room than usual.

He turns the music off.

He can hear them immediately. The couch squeaking, the way she whines and mewls, even Geralt’s being louder. Maybe he’s usually vocal but he’s just so quiet about it that he can’t hear him from down the hall and over Yenn. He bites his lip and drops his head to his open book on his desk. Stupid, he never should have done this. He can already feel his cock starting to fill out, lust raking through his gut, ears straining to hear their every little sound.

She’s close. He closes his eyes and imagines her riding him, setting her own pace and looking down at Geralt with that heat in her eyes, that quirk of her smirk. He remembers Yenn telling him how much Geralt likes to watch and he wonders if he blushes when he watches. He hasn’t seen bruises on Yenn, Geralt doesn’t hold her the way Jaskier does, doesn’t dig his fingers in on purpose.

Jaskier keeps his hands on the desk, fingers fanned out, palms pressed into the wood. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering to resist this either, he’s done it before, he’ll do it again. He wants, desperately, to do it now. Still, he doesn’t touch himself. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes and listens to their every sound. He lets their moaning roll over him, shifts his hips around to feel the extent of his cock getting hard, mouth falling open, heart speeding up.

He imagines how they must look. Yenn on top of him, her hair everywhere, Geralt’s hands on her hips, helping her bounce on his cock. Her tits bouncing. His shirt rucked up so Yenn can twist his nipples. She probably shoved two fingers in his mouth so she could smear his own saliva all over them, really make them nice and perky. He’s smelled Geralt the day after he spent the night, he knows how their sex must smell. How the living room must smell.

Fuck, he wants to watch Geralt come inside her and then lick his cock clean for him.

By the time he hears Yenn coming he’s painfully hard. He can hear what he’s assuming the two of them moving around, probably changing positions so Geralt can fuck into her, chase after his own orgasm. Jaskier gives up the farce completely, pushing away from the desk, pushing the headphones off his head, pushing his hand down his fucking pants.

He bites his tongue and pulls his cock out. He starts slow, assuming that he’ll have time to listen to Geralt. He can still hear Yenn, she’s just as vocal as ever, but it’ll take some time for her to work back up to her ‘just about to come’ volume. He can hear Geralt clear as day like this, his every pant, his every grunt, the slap of their skin, the creak of the couch. He tightens his grip on his cock and sighs, bucking his hips into his hand. He tries to keep his pace slow, though, and really listen to them.

He wants to be allowed to watch them. He wants to be allowed to _join_ them. He doesn’t know how much longer he can put up with this. Yenn doesn’t love the people she fucks, she doesn’t ‘actually, serious like’ them, she doesn’t stop fucking other people. Jaskier hasn’t seen her bring anyone else home in months. She hasn’t stopped crawling into his bed, or pulling him into hers, but he doesn’t think anything could stop that from happening. Not even Geralt.

But he hasn’t seen her with anyone else. And she hasn’t been interested in playing with their shared tinder account, either.

Geralt comes. Jaskier’s cock spurts, so close to coming but not quite there yet, and Jaskier smears it around his shaft. He thought Geralt would take his time, make it last longer, but it seems that he has somewhere to go because pretty soon he can hear the front door opening and closing. Jaskier feels a trickle of embarrassment, shame making him blush, but at this point he’s too far gone to stop. It’d be harder to give up now then it would be to just come.

He hears the loud slap of bare feet and when Yenn opens his door he’s not surprised in the least. He lets go of his cock, twisting away from the door, and he must be bright fucking red.

“Yenn, what the fuck?” He sounds breathless, which only increases his embarrassment, and his cock aches to be touched again. Yenn walks into the room, confident, unbothered in the least, and hops up on his desk. Jaskier glares up at her, cock still out, covered in precome, embarrassingly obvious.

“He went to work.” She spreads her legs on his desk, unashamed. He doesn’t think she’s ever been ashamed a day in her life. Jaskier is knocked breathless by the sight of Geralt’s come slowly leaking out of her and onto his desk. She runs her fingers through his hair, gentler than usual, just petting him. He grabs a hold of his cock and squeezes the base, suddenly and desperately seconds away from coming.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me.” She smiles and pulls on his hair just hard enough to make him shiver.

“Come on, now.” She doesn’t need to pull him into her lap for him to lick her clean, it’s a fantasy he’s been dreaming of ever since Geralt walked back into his life. His mouth is salivating. His cock is throbbing.

This is almost cruel.

He whines and buries his face between her legs to lick every spurt of Geralt’s come out of her. Yen leans back on her hand, beautiful and shivering, thighs already trembling around him. She directs him with a hand in his hair, getting off on this just as much as he is. He goes back to jerking himself off, slow so he doesn’t come too soon, already on a hair’s edge. She’s right back to being ‘about to come’ loud and she’s already rolling her hips, riding his tongue properly, chasing her next orgasm. Her second or third, he’s not certain, but he wonders if he can convince her to fuck him after this round.

He needs a cock in his ass. The biggest, thickest fucking thing she owns.

When he comes, he sees fucking stars.

—————————————————

“Oh! Match, match!” Jaskier and Renfri clinks their beers over Triss, smiling and bouncing a little. Triss is blushing furiously, staring at her phone a little wide eyed and Renfri is leaning over her to click on the ‘send message’ prompt for her.

“I hate this.” Triss says, clinking her beer to Jaskier’s after being left hanging for way too long to be polite.

“Oh, hush, you’re the one who keeps lamenting about how long it’s been since you got laid.” Jaskier says.

“Yeah, exactly. We’re just trying to get you pounded.”

“She got a match?” Yenn asks from the kitchen, and Jaskier calls back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s cute, too!”

“Oh, let me see.” She makes her way over quickly, leaning over Triss’s head to peer down at her phone. Renfri just takes the phone from Triss at this point, pulling up his profile and holding it out so Yenn can scroll through his profile. “Hm, very cute.”

“What do we say?” Jaskier asks, crowding Triss to peek at the profile again. Triss huffs, squished between all three of them, and she starts sending out elbows to regain her personal space bubble.

“You mean what do _I_ say? Give me my phone back you little monster.” Triss yanks back her phone and glowers at everyone, embarrassed.

“Well, what _are_ you going say?” Yenn asks. Jaskier can hear Geralt in the kitchen, still doing the dishes. It feels weird to him that Geralt keeps doing their dishes but he’s thankful for it all the same. He handles all the nastiness of it with a calm demeanor and little to no judgement. Unless he finds mold, then he sits them down and has a very stern conversation with them which is always fucking funny but they do their best to at least pretend to be respectful of it.

He is right, though, it’s pretty fucking gross of them. 

“I’m going to say hi.” All three of them boo her and Renfri makes another grab for her phone but when Triss holds her phone up out of her reach Yenn snatches it up and walks back towards the kitchen with it.

“No, you’re going to say that three dog pictures is a bit much.” Jaskier gasps, turning around to lean over the couch and Renfri hops up to chase after Yenn. “What? They’re all different dogs. Does he own three dogs?” Poor Triss just slumps in the couch and drains her beer.

“At least ask him their names!” Renfri presses her side up to Yenn.

“Yeah, we liked the dogs, Yenn, you can’t just insult them.” Jaskier says, reaching for them over the couch, failing miserably and sloshing beer to the floor. Geralt walks into the room, wiping his hands dry, and snatches the phone out of Yenn’s hands on his way to the couch.

“Boo, goody two shoes.” Renfri calls after him. Geralt leans over the couch, weaseling his way inbetween Jaskier and Triss, holding Triss’s phone over to her. Jaskier’s face to face with Geralt’s huge biceps all of a sudden and he nuzzles his face into his warm muscle with a wide smile. He can’t blame it on drunkenness, they’ve all just had one or two with dinner, but he is pretty buzzed. So. Flimsy excuses and all that. Geralt doesn’t toss him off or even acknowledge him at all really, so Jaskier doesn’t bother feeling embarrassed. He can smell a hint of Yenn on his clothes, along with his natural masculine cleanliness.

It’s comforting. It’s a good scent.

Jaskier ignores the sounds of everyone settling in around him, letting himself be jostled around by Geralt reaching for a new slice of pizza. He just enjoys this small moment of his face pressed into Geralt’s warm skin as long as he can, as long as he can get away with it. It’s not nearly as long as he’d like, forced to reenter the conversation properly because Renfri and Yenn have decided to start bickering over what they’re going to watch next and they are in dear need of his added opinion on the matter.

Still. It’s good. It’s easy. It’s comfortable and happy and more than enough. This can be enough. This is enough.

—————————————————

_from: Geralt, thursday 13:02_

I know it’s a busy day for you but eat some lunch.

_to: Geralt, thursday 17:47_

i think i just failed every single exam i took today

_from: Geralt, thursday 17:49_

Doubtful. Did you eat?

_to: Geralt, thursday 18:00_

dead men dont eat gare bear

_from: Yenn, thursday 18:03_

Jaskier fucking eat something. You’re too old for Geralt calling and asking me to feed you because ure being a dramatic little cunt again

_to: Geralt, thursday 18:03_

shameful

_to: Geralt, thursday 18:03_

horrible

_to: Geralt, thursday 18:04_

n a r c

_from: Geralt, thursday 18:04_

Just fucking EAT something Jaskier.

_to: Yenn, thursday 18:05_

when are you coming home ?????

_to: Yenn, thursday 18:09_

yennnnnnnnnnnnn

_to: Yenn, thursday 18:12_

YEEEEEENN

_to: Yenn, thursday 18:16_

biiiitchdid you really block me a g a i n???

_to: Geralt, thursday 18:20_

comef e e dmeeee

_from: Geralt, thursday 18:21_

You’re a child.

_to: Geralt, thursday 18:22_

[a selfie of Jaskier pouting, the last of the sun has been angled perfectly to hit his face and make him look especially cute. It’s the type of picture he would send to someone he was trying to invite into his bed but he’s never hesitated sending these to Geralt before]

_from: Geralt, thursday 18:46_

Chinese?

—————————————————

Geralt doesn’t even bother to knock on the door when he comes in. Jaskier thinks that’s pretty smart of him because he has no intentions of moving out of the nest he’s made for himself on his bed. All the blankets pushed against the wall, the pillows laid out around him just so he doesn’t have to strain a single muscle to do a damn thing. His laptop is set up on his thighs and if he had a tub of ice cream it would complete his sad bitch image.

“Jaskier?” Jaskier just lets out a loud groan, not bothering to look up from the screen, and that’s enough for Geralt to figure out where he is. “Jask, what the fuck?” Geralt uses his forearm to push open the door, plastic bags swinging around. Jaskier makes grabby hands and Geralt sets them down on the edge of the bed.

“It’s sad bitch hours. I’ve failed all my exams and I’m going to loose all my scholarships and then I’m going to be _homeless_.” He pulls one of the bags closer to him and starts pulling items out, ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ing at everything he’s unearthing.

“You’re not going to fail Jask. The worst grade you’ve ever gotten has been a B.” Jaskier shakes the empty bag in search of chopsticks and Geralt hands some over. “Scoot.”

“I’m not scooting, this is my nest, it’s perfect. I cannot move. It’ll risk the integrity of the entire design.”

“Scoot you little shit. I brought you food.” Jaskier rolls his eyes but scoots all the same. His bed is just a twin so when Geralt does climb in their bodies are squished together. He stays sitting up, leaned back against the headboard, so Jaskier’s head is pressed right up to his thigh. He tries to keep his focus on the laptop and the food he’s got balanced on his chest and not the heat of his body and the scent of him. 

“So the semester’s over?”

“Yep.” Geralt looks like he wants to say something else and Jaskier keeps quiet, letting him figure it out. Jaskier watches him fondly, patiently. He’s very purposefully watching the screen and not meeting his gaze.

“What are we watching?” There’s a woman with a very thick accent building something on youtube with a lot of styrofoam, and he hasn’t moved for the past two hours. He has no idea who this is, or when he started watching her videos, but here he is, and at this point he’s invested.

“I have no clue.” They sit together quietly, Geralt offering different boxes to him before he takes his own first bite. It’s comfortable, and perfect, and even if they’re quietly watching incredible people spending hours making weird shit on youtube it’s still enough to soothe Jaskier’s nerves.

“It’s warm now, too.” Jaskier smiles, smacking the space bar and turning to look up at Geralt. He can see the barely there tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“I would love to come see the sanctuary whenever your schedule allows.” Geralt glances down to him and his blush turns a little pinker but he smiles, too. He quickly averts his eyes and hits the space bar a lot lighter than Jaskier did earlier. Jaskier chuckles.

He’s got Geralt by his side. Geralt’s warm thigh pressed against his ear, his soft breathing, the quiet sounds of them eating, and a long series of insanely talented and hyper fixated creators on youtube. It’s a perfect evening to a horrible and stressful day and Jaskier’s still a little shocked that Geralt actually made the one hour drive just to bring him some food. It’s painfully similar to the old days between them, before the kiss, when they’d reheat whatever they could find in the fridge and watch whatever weird shitty movie they could find that they hadn’t already seen before.

It’s not long before Jaskier’s right back to where he used to end up in those days, too. Curled around Geralt’s thigh, cuddling his leg like it’s just another pillow, his laptop now moved to sit on Geralt’s other, not commandeered, thigh.

He could fall asleep like this. Geralt’s hand is resting on his neck, hot and heavy and perfect, and if he’s really lucky Geralt will scratch him gently with his blunt, bitten down nails. Everytime he does it Jaskier has to bite back a moan, bruising his bottom lip a wet red. His eyelids feel heavy, his whole body feels heavy, and he wonders if he falls asleep cuddled up in Geralt’s lap will he wake up with him, too?

His heart, the traitor, flutters and flies. He’s tried. He’s tried not to love him. It’s useless. There’s nothing he can do but resign himself to it.

He listens to Yenn unlock the door and glances over at the clock at the top right of his screen. She’s two hours later than she should be. Did she ever text him back? He should probably unbury his phone and check sometime soon. She walks straight to his room and leans against the doorjam, scowling.

“You should know better than anyone not to indulge him like this.” She does a good job of sounding like she means it but Jaskier can see the smirk she’s hiding behind her hair when she leans down to unzip the heeled boots she’s wearing. “He’s going to do this all the time now.”

“What did you bring for him?” Geralt keeps his tone quiet and it occurs to Jaskier that they may think he’s asleep. He hasn’t really moved or spoken in a long time. He watches Yenn shake her head, roll her eyes, and turn to walk back into the hall.

“One of those dumb, disgusting yakisoba things he likes from the gas station.”

—————————————————

Yenn ends up coming with them when they go to the sanctuary. Jaskier’s not bitter about it. She does pay for his iced coffee, though, and that’s not him being bitter she just owes him.

“How in the fuck do you make a two hour round trip three days a week to go back and forth between your job and your classes?” Yenn’s the one who asks it. Not because Jaskier isn’t interested in the answer but because he keeps forgetting that people who drive usually hate driving and spending an hour in the car watching scenic landscapes zip by is not these people’s idea of an hour well spent. Though, to be fair, they’re not watching the landscape, they’re watching the road and the cars and the lights.

He’s just thankful he’s not the one driving.

Anyways, Jaskier chose to climb into the back seat because as much as he loves Yenn and Geralt both he didn’t want to have to actively sit next to them as they cuddle up on one another. It’s torture enough to have to watch it now from behind them.

“I like the drive. It’s relaxing.” Geralt says, but Yenn just scoffs. Jaskier smiles to himself and keeps his mouth shut, chewing on his straw. He’s laid out on the back seat, he’d wanted to the minute he remembered Triss doing it, and he has no idea how she managed it. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, though he his quite a few inches taller than her. That might be enough to make the difference.

—————————————————

“What exactly do you do here?” Jaskier asks, trailing a few steps behind. Geralt’s walking around with his hand interlinked with Yenn’s. It’s not something he’s ever remembered Yenn indulging in. He’s a very grabby, hand holdy person and anytime he’s ever dared to try and engage in pda with her she just smiles and flits away from him.

“Maintenance, mostly. And I help feed them and sometimes I help when the doctors need to check up on them. But, mostly just the fixing stuff.” They’ve left their car in a parking lot, which feels weird because it really seems like there wouldn’t be a parking lot here, and they’re walking towards a rather large building.

Jaskier can probably still write out which classes are held where in that building, and when. He spent a long time scouring this place’s website in a desperate attempt to glean something, anything, about Geralt in those two years.

“Will I have a chance to meet dear Uncle Vesemir?” Geralt’s smile comes to him easier here. He doesn’t seem to need time to let his high barriers melt away the way he usually does. Stepping out of the truck and closing the door seemed to turn a switch inside him somewhere, like the strings holding him tight were all cut at once. It’s amazing to see and Jaskier thinks he could be content here. Surrounded by the soft green earth and the ease with which Geralt smiles. Even Yenn seems to like it here.

“Most likely. He lives on the ground like I do.”

“You live on the grounds?” Yenn asks. She’s smiling, eyes glittering, and Jaskier can tell that she’s utterly smitten, even from back here. It twists something in his gut, makes him look away. He’s happy to see the two of them like this. Happy, smiling, cuddled close and relaxed. It’s lovely.

It makes him feel like a fucking ghost. Cold despite the sunlight.

“I do. Free board for workers like me who don’t mind three am phone calls because something or other has broken down.” They walk into the office and Jaskier gets distracted from Yenn’s response by looking around. It’s just a building. There’s a fireplace, which seems cool, and a shelf full of board games which is even cooler, and a table set up with snacks and water. No wonder they sell memberships.

“Lambert!” Lambert half jumps out of his skin when Jaskier calls his name and he looks right up at him, confused and surprised. “I didn’t know you worked here!” Jaskier walks right up to the counter where Lambert’s sitting and half leans over it, glad for a distraction from Geralt and Yenn’s sweet love story.

“Jaskier?” Lambert doesn’t lean over for a kiss and Jaskier pouts. He’d very much like a kiss. Maybe if he used his words?

“You know Lambert?” Geralt asks from behind him. Jaskier doesn’t bother to turn to look at them and he doesn’t miss Yenn’s silence, either.

“You know Geralt?” Lambert’s glancing back and forth between the lot of them, confused. Jaskier giggles, nodding.

“He’s my step-brother.” Lambert looks over to Geralt with a shocked expression, mouth hanging open, eyebrows furrowed together. Jaskier gasps and turns to glare at Geralt playfully. “Did you not tell anyone about me? Oh, Geralt, you scamp.” He winks over at Lambert, “Always did act like I was some horrid little secret.” Jaskier says it like a joke and he almost means it as one, too.

Lambert whistles, shaking his head. “That’s fucked up, dude.” Jaskier laughs at the way Geralt blushes, embarrassed, and then he’s very distracted by Lambert finally leaning forward. Jaskier delights in the kiss, incapable of resisting his desire to shove his tongue down Lambert’s throat. Lambert makes the prettiest sound, Geralt clears his throat loudly, and Yenn giggles. Jaskier tries to chase after him when Lambert leans away but there’s this blasted counter inbetween them.

“You should call me soon.” Lambert says with a wink, turning back to whatever paperwork he was dealing with before he was so rudely interrupted by Jaskier’s mouth.

“Call me yourself you coward.” Lambert smiles and Jaskier bites his lip and he wonders if he can do that again.

“Lambert, is Vesemir around?”

“Sure, somewhere. Good luck finding him, though. Some lady threw the biggest hissy fit about not seeing more than three of the animals in the Jeep and he just fucked off halfway through her tirade. Fuckin’ hero.” Geralt chuckles and Jaskier can’t help but smile at the sight of it.

“Can we take one of the Jeeps?” Yenn groans loudly, pouting some in a way that speaks to just how much influence that Jaskier’s had on her over the years.

“Not another fucking drive. We just got out of the car.”

“Only way to see the deer.” Yenn perks up at the mention of deer. Just a subtle tick of her eyebrows, a widening of her eyes. She’s practically jumping with excitement.

“Sure, I don’t care. Just don’t crash it because you got distracted.” Lambert tosses a key to Geralt who grabs it easily enough. Geralt frowns at Lambert, Lambert winks back, and Jaskier’s having a great time. They all follow Geralt through the building, presumably to wherever the Jeeps are kept.

“There’s more than just deer, though, yeah?” Geralt corrals them all into a Jeep, launching into what has to be a spiel he’s learned about the place. Yenn and Jaskier are both only half listening as they peel out onto the established dirt paths. They’re both watching Geralt talk, though. It doesn’t really matter what he’s saying, it’s the fact that he’s saying anything at all that’s important.

Jaskier hasn’t heard Geralt run his mouth about anything for this long. It’s painfully obvious how much he loves it here, how good this place has been for him. Yenn asks leading questions, stuff that launches Geralt into another several minutes long rant and Jaskier loves her for it. Geralt’s eyes are sparkling with joy. He’s fucking glowing. 

—————————————————

He sits forward, resting his chin on the shoulder of Geralt’s seat and stares ahead. “You love it here.” Yenn’s slumped in her seat, forehead resting against the window, snoring softly.

“I do. It’s exactly what I hoped for it to be.” Jaskier smiles. Yenn’s and Geralt’s unnatural states of utterly relaxed is contagious. It never occurred to him how soothing to his soul it would be to see them like this. If this is how they are together, truly, when they’re alone and not trying to torture him with their fucking, then. Well. The loneliness, the loss, the poetic heartbreak of it all, is more than worth it. In all his years he’s never seen Yenn so quickly and so easily relaxed around someone.

“And Uncle Vesemir?”

“We have dinner once a week. You know Lambert’s his kid, right?” Jaskier gasps, hand to his chest, the whole dramatic number.

“I can’t believe I’ve fucked my own cousin.” Geralt laughs, easy and shaking his head. Of course they’re not actually cousins, but now it seems that Jaskier needs to do a better job of mapping out Geralt’s family tree to prevent these types of embarrassments from continuing. “I feel like I’ve been trapped inside a horrible porno. Quick, what type of pizza are we ordering for lunch?”

“He’s married, Jaskier.” Jaskier can’t help but smile at Geralt’s tone. So disappointed and indigent. If Lambert were willing to kiss him in front of Geralt then it seems that he would know more about the specifics of Lambert’s marriage, but apparently not.

“Is that who that was? Huh. The more you know.” Geralt looks confused for a moment, mouth opening to seek clarification but he just shakes his head and opts to say nothing. Jaskier muffles his giggle in the car’s seat.

They continue driving, just wasting time now, really, it seems. Geralt’s probably giving Yenn time to really enjoy her nap. Jaskier catches the sight of a few deer, just a few heads popping up, some thin legs disappearing into the treeline. Lots of other little creatures, too, but only glimpses and not enough to identify them properly.

“After this I can take you to meet the wolf dogs. I just wanted you to see the landscape, really.” Geralt’s voice is gentle. He really does belong here, in the wilderness, far more than he could ever belong in the cities.

“Thank you.” Jaskier whispers it, infuses it with the sudden, swelling depth of his gratitude. He feels he’s being shown a secret piece of Geralt, vulnerable and breathtaking. Geralt hums but doesn’t seem to feel the need to say anything more. Jaskier can feel the melancholy beginning to settle on his shoulders.

The longer he spends around the two of them, reveling in their new love, the more he sinks into his own melancholy. He’d known he’d have to watch Yenn fall in love sooner or later, but he didn’t think he’d have to do it up fucking close. He didn’t think that if Geralt ever really did come back he’d be immediately stolen away from him by his very best friend in the whole wide world. It’s painful. No matter how often Yenn falls back into his arms, he knows that she’s getting dates, wine with dinner, hand holding, sensual fuck you with love in my eyes type of love from Geralt. The same fucking man that Jaskier’s ached to have those things with for years now.

It’s just painful. It’s endlessly painful. The knife sinks in deeper and deeper and breathing just gets harder and harder.

“I feel like I’m wasting my life.” He heaves a heavy sigh and watches Yenn sleep on. He whispers it. His hands squeeze into the leather of Geralt’s seat, trying very hard not to reach over the console and tuck Yenn’s hair back out of her face. She’s beautiful, lips parted, eyelashes long, skin luminous in the sunlight.

“You’ve known what you wanted to do since the moment you found Uncle Vesemir in highschool. Dear sweet Yenn here has known what she wanted to do since she first learned what a lawyer even was. And me? No clue.” Sitting in the back of Geralt’s Jeep and watching the peaceful sleep of Yenn in the front, he can’t help but feel he’s nearing the end of his time in their lives. Like this perfect, sweet day marks the beginning of the end of this.

They’ll move in together. They’ll get dogs, and kids, and a house with a big backyard. There’s no room for him there.

“Forget money, and worrying about majors and your future job. What do you want then?”

“A girl’s got to eat, Geralt.”

“Forget worrying about that, too.” Jaskier thinks honestly. It’s been a long time since he’s bothered to do that. What does he want when he strips away the worry for food, and home, and money? What is there left to desire when one’s needs are met?

“I don’t have even the inkling of an idea.” If Geralt had intended to offer him some form of comfort then he’s failed miserably. He feels like he’s been shucked further out to sea.

“Think about it. Figure it out from there.”

“What did you want? That led you here?” Jaskier has no idea where they are. Somewhere deep in the property, approximately. Most likely. He’s seen a few skittering limbs, but nothing more promising or lasting than that.

“Peace.” Jaskier tucks in his chin, hiding his smile in the seat’s shoulder.


End file.
